Secrets
by D. Fowler
Summary: At first glance the case seems simple, but McCoy finds that there is more to it and opposing counsel than meets the eye.
1. Default Chapter

Law & Order Story: Secrets

Chapter 1

As Jack McCoy climbed the steps of the 27th precinct, he pulled his coat tighter to keep out the wind. Typical late fall weather. He should have been on his way home by now. This should have been Abbie Carmichael's call. But he had offered to take it, knowing she had an early arraignment the next morning. So here he was, 7 PM, on his way to hear some sad story or declaration of innocence from yet another upstanding citizen accused of murder. The man had already been brought in once for questioning regarding the death of his business partner. He smiled to himself when he recalled Carmichael's comments after she had returned from that meeting. "His attorney didn't even try to stop the cops when they were grilling her client. She just stood there. I almost felt sorry for the guy. I think she's in way over her head. Her business card reads, 'Corporate Contract Attorney'. You would think he could tell the difference between a defense and a business attorney." But the man hadn't confessed, despite the circumstantial evidence: employees who had overheard the two arguing loudly, and the usual cash flow trouble with their well-known architectural firm. But thanks to an anonymous tip Detective Lennie Briscoe had received, a search of the suspect's apartment had produced a gun of the right style and caliber. That, coupled with a less than knowledgeable attorney, might get a quick plea and dinner at a reasonable hour. He sighed. Right.

As he entered the interrogation area, he heard Briscoe's gruff voice. 

"Counselor. To what do we owe the honor of being graced with your presence tonight?"

He smiled at the good-natured crack. "Just lucky, I guess. And the sooner we get this over with, the sooner I get out of here and let you get back to your poker game or whatever else I'm keeping you from." He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it and his briefcase onto a table.

"As much as I'd love to oblige you, we're still waiting for Fairchild's lawyer. And we hope to shortly have the ballistics report back on the gun, as well. Found it in his sock drawer, if you can believe that. We've already read him his rights. Ed has been trying to sweet-talk a confession out of him."

"So where are you hiding him?" McCoy asked.

"Right this way," Briscoe replied, leading the way to the small observation area of an interrogation room.

The two men stood at the one way glass. Inside was a blond-haired man sitting at the far end of a table, looking very uncomfortable. Sitting on the table a couple of feet from him was Briscoe's partner, Ed Green. Briscoe tapped on the glass. After a few more seconds of conversation, Green got up and came out, closing the door behind him. The man inside sat back in his chair and looked only slightly more comfortable.

"Says he won't give me the time of day until his attorney gets here," Green said, shaking his head.

"Umm. Can't wait," Briscoe commented. Noticing the sideways glance McCoy gave him, he added, "Blue eyes, long brown hair. Looks great in a pair of jeans."

His partner shook his head as the three left the small room. "Right about the jeans, wrong about the eyes," he said with a smile. "They're green, not blue."

"Can I get you some coffee, Counselor?" Briscoe asked.

"Not right now, thanks," McCoy answered, settling on the edge of a near-by desk.

"Wonder what's keeping the ballistics report?" Green asked. "I told them to put a rush on it."

"Their idea of rushing is sometime before the turn of the next century," Briscoe grumbled.

"Well looks like we don't have to wait for Fairchild's attorney any longer," Green said, nodding toward the door. 

"And it looks like we disturbed her gym time," Briscoe quipped. "She doesn't look too happy about it, either."

McCoy looked over his shoulder to see a petite woman coming toward them. She was wearing close fitting black exercise pants, a blue fleece jacket, and running shoes. She walked past him quickly, eyes intent on the two detectives, oblivious to McCoy. As she passed, he glimpsed an attractive face framed with dark hair held back with a simple hairband. She stopped in front of the two men with her back to him, revealing long, wispy curls falling to the middle of her back. 

Planting her feet slightly apart and crossing her arms she began icily, "Detectives. Is it not true that my client and I have cooperated fully with you up until now?"

Briscoe and Green exchanged glances. "Sure," Briscoe shrugged, sounding a little confused.

"Do you think it was really necessary to arrest my client at his place of business, handcuffing him in front of his employees, to drag him down here? A simple phone call would have yielded the same results, avoiding a trip to his office for you, and a great deal of embarrassment for him."

"We were just following procedure, Ms. Morgan. We routinely handcuff all suspects," Green answered tactfully.

"All suspects, Detective? Or are you allowed to use your own discretion?" she asked coldly.

"He's a murder suspect, Counselor," Briscoe chimed in. "In our opinion, that warrants more than a phone call."

"And when my client is cleared of all pending charges, do you intend to return to his place of business and apologize to him in front of his employees?"

Briscoe and Green exchanged disbelieving looks.

"I didn't think so," she continued. "Maybe next time you will consider a suspect's willingness to cooperate and his good standing in the community before you humiliate him."

"We'll keep that in mind, Counselor," Green answered quickly, heading off any less tactful remark on the tip of Briscoe's tongue.

"Thank you," she said, her tone softer. "May I please see my client now?"

"Of course. He's waiting right in here." Green motioned the way to the interrogation room, allowing her to precede him.

McCoy had watched the entire exchange with amusement. As he slid off of the desk, he smiled at the eye-rolling look Briscoe gave him. He followed slowly, entering the small room as the door closed behind the woman.

"I guess we were supposed to send out engraved invitations," Briscoe smirked.

"But you gotta admit, Lennie, she talks to us a lot nicer than most attorneys," Green said, giving McCoy a pointed look. "Even when she's angry." 

"Yeah, and she does look good when she's angry," Briscoe agreed.

McCoy grinned at their conversation, but his eyes were on the room beyond the glass. Morgan was standing in front of the blond man in much the same way she had stood in front of the detectives: feet apart, arms crossed. Her back was to him, but he had a clear view of her client's face. And he looked like a kid who had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. 

"She doesn't look any happier with him than she did with the two of you," he commented, his eyes never leaving the scene in front of him. She had started to pace, eyes on the floor as she listened, obviously intent on her client's words.

"Well, I'm going to go get that coffee now," Briscoe said, turning toward the door. "Sure I can't bring you some, Counselor?"

"Maybe later," he replied as Briscoe left the room.

"And I'm going to go see if I can light a fire under the lab and get that ballistics report," Green added, following him out.

McCoy watched as the woman stopped pacing and sat in a chair facing the man, with her back toward the door. She leaned forward in the chair as he continued talking. After another moment, he stopped and looked at her apprehensively. She sat back and propped an elbow on the table, fingers rubbing her temple. Then she nodded slowly and a look of relief flooded his face. 

Briscoe returned with his coffee. It smelled good.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, joining McCoy at the window.

"Hard to tell from here," he noted. 

The suspect seemed to be listening to his attorney intently. After a moment, she stood up and placed her hand on his shoulder. He nodded and she turned toward the door.

She came out slowly as Green returned. Looking at the detectives, she asked a bit hesitantly, "Would it be possible for me to take a look at the search warrant?"

"Sure. I'll get it," Green volunteered.

As he left, her eyes settled on McCoy. Noting the look, Briscoe motioned to him and said, "Counselor, I don't believe you've met the Executive A.D.A. assigned to this case. Calea Morgan, this is Jack McCoy." 

He clearly saw a flicker of surprise cross her face as he took a couple of steps toward her. She moved forward to meet him and held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. McCoy."

"Same here," he said as he took her hand. It felt small inside of his, but her grip was firm and steady. He found himself looking down into her eyes: definitely blue. But it was their intensity that held his. She looked at him the way his mother always had, as if she could see right through him and read his thoughts. He found it a bit unsettling coming from someone he had just met. 

Green came back into the room and her attention turned to him. 

"Here is a copy for your records," he said, handing her the paper. 

"Thank you," she replied, taking it from him and beginning to study it carefully. After a moment she said slowly, "If I understand this correctly, you obtained the warrant due to a phone tip from an informant? Which of you took the call?"

"I did," Briscoe answered.

She was biting the inside of her lip. "Is it normal for you to obtain a search warrant on a tip from an anonymous source?"

"Happens all the time," Briscoe assured her. "Some of our tips come from informants we've worked with in the past, but not all of them."

"You didn't recognize the voice as someone you have worked with before?"

"There really wasn't time to identify it. The caller was very specific with the information and very brief." He didn't like where the conversation was going.

"How brief?" she asked as she continued to study the paper.

"Maybe a minute or so," he shrugged, adding sarcastically, "just long enough to give us what we needed to nail your client."

She glanced up at him before returning to the paper. After another second she said, "Well, it looks like everything is in order." She looked at the three men. "I suppose you would like to question my client now."

"That would be helpful," Green agreed.

She turned to the door, but then paused, looking from Briscoe to Green. "About what I said when I came in: I apologize if I seemed rude. It's been a long day." She gave them a slight smile.

"No problem," Green said. "We know the feeling."

Nodding, she opened the door and preceded them into the room. "These gentlemen would like to ask you some questions, Peter." Indicating McCoy, she said. "This is Mr. McCoy, from the District Attorney's office." She stood behind her client and, motioning to the chairs, said, "Please sit down," as if she were inviting them to tea. The detectives took a chair on either side of Fairchild. Although he would have preferred to stand in the background and observe, McCoy did as she said, sitting at the far end of the table.

"So Mr. Fairchild," Green started, "what can you tell us about the gun we found in your apartment?"

Fairchild sat with his hands folded on the table in front of him. "Neither my wife nor I own a gun, and I have no idea how the one you found got into my home." He looked at the men earnestly.

"Is that the best you can do?" Briscoe asked incredulously. "We found it underneath your socks. If you didn't put it there, who did?"

"I don't know," Fairchild answered simply.

Green leaned forward and smiled, his eyes warm. "Surely you must see our problem with that answer. Evan Carpelli is dead. Some of your employees overheard the two of you quarrel. Money was tight. And now we find a gun just like the one used to kill your partner, in your apartment. It's hard to believe you don't know something about it."

Fairchild shook his head. "I know how it looks, but I didn't kill Evan. The business was financially sound. And like I told you before, we were partners for ten years. We didn't always agree on everything. Sometimes we fought. But we always worked things out. It's how we built such a successful business in the first place. I certainly had no reason to kill him."

"Then explain to us how the gun got into your apartment," Briscoe advised, sounding irritated.

"I can't," Fairchild replied, spreading his hands out. "I don't understand that myself. We have two small children. We would never keep a gun in our home. It's too dangerous. My wife and I agreed that the risks of gun ownership outweighed the benefits, before we ever had kids. It isn't my gun."

"You say it isn't your gun," Briscoe stated intensely. "So maybe you borrowed it from someone. And you say you wouldn't keep a gun in your home for the safety of the little tykes. So maybe you just put it in with your socks to keep it warm until you could get rid of it. However you look at it, the fact is we found it in your home. And I'll bet you that as soon as we get the lab report, not only will it say it's the same gun that killed Evan Carpelli, but it will also say that your fingerprints were all over it."

McCoy had been watching Fairchild carefully. Not that he believed his claim about the gun, but the guy seemed pretty calm about it. He glanced up to find Fairchild's attorney studying him with those intense eyes. She had moved back to lean against the wall directly behind her client. And Carmichael had been right. So far, she hadn't said a word since the questioning had started. Maybe she didn't know she could stop it. Maybe she was in over her head. He met her gaze for a moment before returning it to Fairchild. Green was reasoning with him calmly.

"Mr. Fairchild, if you or your wife didn't put the gun there, can you offer any other explanation as to how it did get into your apartment?"

He sighed. "Someone must have put it there to make it look like I killed Evan. But I don't know how they could have done that. And I don't have any idea who would have."

"So you're trying to convince us you're being framed for killing your partner, even though we have all this evidence convincing us that you're the one who did it?" Briscoe asked sarcastically. "Do you think we just started doing this yesterday? Evidence doesn't lie, Fairchild. And our evidence says you're guilty."

Green leaned forward and said sympathetically, "Look, if the two of you had a fight and things got out of hand, we can understand that. Your business is very important to you. If your partner was falling down on his end of the job, you'd have every right to be angry with him. You're the one who started the business. Maybe it meant more to you than it did to him. You had a right to protect what you worked so hard to build."

"The business was fine," Fairchild answered steadily.

"Then why don't you help us out?" Green suggested. "You can start by telling us what happened last Monday night."

"I already told you: I left the office at 8:30. Evan was still there, alive. I took some blueprints to an aide in the mayor's office. I left there about 10:00 and I got home at 11:00. I ate dinner and I went to bed. I didn't know anything about Evan until I got to the office the next morning."

"And no one saw you drive into the parking garage, no one saw you go into your apartment, and your wife and kids were at grandma's." Briscoe was becoming irate. "We call that 'no alibi'."

Morgan's movement caught McCoy's eye as she left her spot to move unobtrusively along the wall, stopping at a point behind Green. With her hands behind her, she leaned back again and continued watching the interrogation.

"I've told you the truth. I don't know what else you want me to say." Fairchild was beginning to sound tired.

Green sat back, letting his partner take over. Briscoe got up to sit on the edge of the table, leaning forward into Fairchild's face. Raising his voice he offered, "The truth is, you went back to your office after your meeting at the mayor's office and finished the fight you started earlier with your partner. Only this time, you made sure you got in the last word. Then you went home, hid the gun and got a good night's sleep so you could act properly surprised when you got to your office the next morning and received the shocking news of your partner's death."

"I went straight home after I left the mayor's office. I didn't go back to my office." Under the intensity of Briscoe's questioning, Fairchild was beginning to look shaken. He glanced at his attorney.

McCoy caught the look and quickly turned his attention to the woman. Her eyes were locked with her client's and she was standing up straight, no longer leaning against the wall. But she made no move to rescue him.

Green was saying, "You can help yourself by telling us the truth, Mr. Fairchild."

"And if you don't start helping yourself, we're going to help you into a cell at Rikers," Briscoe countered.

Fairchild shook his head. "I've told you the truth from the start. There is nothing more I can tell you. I didn't kill Evan and I don't know who did."

McCoy glanced at the attorney again. She had settled back against the wall, but was watching her client closely.

Briscoe leaned forward into Fairchild's face again but was stopped short by a knock on the door. It was opened by Lieutenant Anita Van Buren.

"Briscoe," she motioned for him to follow her.

He turned back to Fairchild. "Don't go anywhere," he smirked, and got up. 

When he had left the room, Green asked him kindly, "Would you like some coffee, Mr. Fairchild?"

The man nodded. "Yes, I would, thank you."

Green got up and turned to the woman. "Can I get you anything, Ms. Morgan?"

"No, thank you." As Green walked toward the door, she looked at McCoy. "May I please have a moment with my client?"

He nodded, getting up. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Green say, "They told me they would send it down as soon as it was finished."

"Well, the technician finished it and left, instructing the person coming on duty to send it to us. But then they got swamped and it didn't get sent," Van Buren was explaining. "The person I talked to said she would fax it in a few minutes."

"Morons," Briscoe complained. "Can't they just tell us over the phone if it's a match?"

"Evidently not," Van Buren continued. "So take a break. You're not getting anywhere with Fairchild anyway."

"He's starting to tire," Green said. "Maybe I could chat with him alone. Tell him how Lennie is waiting for the evidence that's going to put him away. Who knows what he might say to keep you out of his face?" he grinned at Briscoe. "I'll get him some coffee," he said as Briscoe followed him out of the observation area.

McCoy had been listening to their conversation while watching the two people inside the small room. Van Buren came to stand quietly beside him.

"So what does Mrs. Fairchild have to say about all of this?" he asked her.

"Pretty much the same thing he does. The partners sometimes argued, but her husband had no reason to kill him. She can't vouch for him the night of the murder because she was at his parent's in Albany, with their two and four year old. He called her on his cell phone a little after 8:30 to talk to the kids before they went to sleep. She came home the next day after she heard the news. That all checked out. She wasn't home today when the detectives got to the apartment with the warrant. The super let them in. She came in before they found the gun and seemed genuinely upset when she saw it. The detectives were convinced enough that she didn't know anything about it, that after questioning her there, they didn't feel it was necessary to bring her in."

Green returned with two coffees. "You have a phone call, Lieutenant."

She excused herself and Green turned to McCoy. "I could use a few minutes alone with Fairchild. Care to distract his lawyer for a while?"

McCoy smiled. "I'll see what I can do." After knocking on the door, he opened it for Green.

"Ms. Morgan, could I have a word with you?" McCoy asked, holding the door open.

"Of course," she replied. 

Green handed Fairchild his coffee, and then perched on the table.

When she was through the door, McCoy closed it behind them. She walked a few paces and turned, stopping at the far edge of the glass window. He noticed she had a perfect view of her client's face.

Slipping her hands in her jacket pockets, she asked, "What can I do for you, Mr. McCoy?"

He leaned against the opposite edge of the window. "You can convince your client that unless he wants to tell his feeble story at a trial and take his chances with twelve intelligent people, he should tell us what really happened. Then maybe we can talk about a plea."

She turned her head to look into the room and asked, "What makes you think he isn't telling you what really happened?" When she looked back at him, her expression was serious. 

"Your client had a motive. Detective Briscoe is waiting for the lab report on what is most likely the murder weapon, which was found in his home. He has no alibi for the time of the murder. You have to admit his story isn't very convincing."

"And you think I can persuade him to tell you a different story?" 

He shrugged slightly. "You are his attorney. It's in his best interest to cooperate."

She stared at him with that same reading-his-mind-look, contemplating. Finally, she said quietly, "I have already advised Peter to be truthful and cooperative. I've been his attorney for almost seventeen years. I know him well. And I see no indication that he's being anything other than truthful. I don't know what else I can do."

She seemed intelligent enough, just inexperienced. "If he has anything to say, now is the time, before things go any farther." His voice was kind and persuasive.

Morgan studied him for another moment before turning her attention to the room. Green was still sitting on the table, casually swinging one foot. Fairchild was listening closely to him.

Morgan and McCoy were both distracted by Briscoe's enthusiastic, "Got it!" as he came back into the room, accompanied by Van Buren. "No prints, but the lab says the gun is a definite match to the murder weapon. I wonder if this is enough to make your client change his tune, Counselor." 

He handed the report to the woman. She took it from him, then studied it with a frown.

"Would you like a moment alone with your client?" McCoy prompted.

She looked up at him, nodding slowly. "Yes, I would." Indicating the report, she asked, "May I show this to him?"

McCoy nodded and she walked to the door. He opened it for her and said, "Detective..."

Green turned and got up, smiling at Morgan as he passed her. But her eyes were fixed on her client.

"So what's the report say?" Green asked as McCoy closed the door.

"It says Fairchild is going to sleep in a cell tonight," Briscoe answered.

"So are we going to lock him up now and let him think it over, Counselor, or are we going to try to get to the bottom of this tonight?" Van Buren asked.

"Let's see what he has to say after his lawyer talks to him." McCoy added with a shrug, "Maybe she can convince him to fess up."

"I told him what a wild man you are, Lennie," Green smiled. "He's shaking in his shoes."

"Oh, goody," Briscoe cracked. "I love playing 'wild man'." 

Morgan had turned and was walking to the door. "Show time," Green said to Briscoe as she opened the door.

"Please come in," she said, holding the door for the two detectives. McCoy and Van Buren opted to observe from the window, turning on the speaker so they could hear the conversation. Morgan left the door open, moving to stand just inside of it.

"So, Fairchild," Briscoe said calmly. "What do you have to say now?"

"The same thing I've said all along: I didn't kill my business partner." Fairchild looked Briscoe in the eye. He seemed concerned, but calm. 

"Do you understand that this means you're going to jail?" Briscoe asked, leaning into his face.

"I have nothing else to say," Fairchild answered resolutely.

Making a decision to end the interrogation that was obviously not going to be productive, Van Buren appeared at the door. "Take him downstairs."

Morgan stepped forward. "Before you do, I have a small favor to ask." She looked earnestly at Van Buren. "Peter has been away from his children only four nights since they were born, and even on those occasions, he made it a point to call them every night. He'd like a chance to do that now. He's willing to allow you to remain in the room to monitor the conversation." Seeing the hesitation on the other woman's face, she added softly, "It's a small thing, but it means a lot to his children."

To the detectives' surprise, Van Buren said, looking at them, "Get a phone."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Morgan said, sounding genuinely grateful.

"Five minutes, Counselor, and then he goes," Van Buren said, turning toward the door.

Green came back with a phone, placing it on the table in front of Fairchild, who began to dial with a shaky hand. Morgan stood behind him.

McCoy raised his eyebrows in a silent question as Van Buren took a place between him and Briscoe at the window. "She asked nicely," she shrugged, noting the look. "And if I was going to have to spend the night in jail, I'd want to talk to my kids first, too."

"I'll have to remember to appeal to your maternal nature next time I want the day off," Briscoe observed. Van Buren gave him a warning look.

When Fairchild's brief conversation was over he slowly replaced the receiver. He looked apprehensively at Green, who had gotten up as Briscoe came into the room. Green asked Fairchild to stand as well, and began to put handcuffs on him. Fairchild locked eyes with his attorney. She nodded once, trying to look reassuring, as the detectives led him away. 

When she came out of the room, McCoy was waiting. "I take it your client decided not to cooperate. Maybe a night in jail will change his mind."

She looked and sounded dejected. "When will he be arraigned?"

"Probably tomorrow before noon. Since the gun found in his home is the murder weapon, I'm sure we'll get an indictment early in the morning," he answered as they walked out of the observation room. "If he's ready to talk afterwards, let Ms. Carmichael know. Maybe we can clear this all up quickly."

Morgan nodded. When they reached the door leading into the hallway, she stopped and held out her hand. "Thank you for your help, Mr. McCoy. It was a pleasure to meet you. I'll be in touch with you tomorrow," she said, shaking his hand. 

He smiled at her. "I'll look forward to it."

She opened the door to leave, then turned back. Reaching into her jacket pocket, she pulled out a business card. Handing to him, she said, "If you need to get in touch with me, this is my number. My office or service can reach me day or night."

The card was warm when he took it from her. "Thank you." He slipped it into his suitcoat pocket as she turned and left.

McCoy retrieved his coat and briefcase. Van Buren walked up as he was putting on the coat.

"Thanks for dropping by, Counselor. Sorry things didn't go the way you hoped."

"Can't win them all on the first try." He smiled. "But tomorrow, who knows?"

"Good-night."

"Good-night," he called over his shoulder as he pushed open the door.


	2. 2

Chapter 2

"People versus Peter Fairchild. The charge is murder in the first degree," the bailiff called loudly over the usual din of arraignment court.

"How do you plead, Mr. Fairchild?" the judge asked, looking at the paperwork in front of her.

"Not guilty, Your Honor," Fairchild answered.

The judge glanced to her right. "Bail, Ms. Carmichael?"

"The people ask for $500,000 given the nature of the crime and the fact that Mr. Fairchild has the means to flee jurisdiction."

"Objections?" the judge asked.

"None, Your Honor," Morgan said simply. 

Carmichael gave her an annoyed look as the judge banged the gavel and said, "Bail set at $500,000. Next case."

"You could've asked for a lower bail," she suggested, as the two turned toward the door.

"True. But why tie up the court's valuable time arguing?" Morgan smiled. "Bail isn't going to be a problem for my client, Ms. Carmichael." 

She was irritated at Morgan's attitude. And she was still feeling irritated when she arrived back at One Hogan Place.

After seeing that McCoy was not at his desk, she walked to the door of Adam Schiff's office. The door was open, but she knocked anyway, hearing the two men talking. 

Schiff looked at her. "Yes?" 

"I just got back from Peter Fairchild's arraignment," she said, standing in front of his desk, arms crossed. She turned to McCoy, who was seated on the sofa. "You met his attorney last night, Jack. What did you think of her?"

"I think she has beautiful blue eyes," he answered teasingly.

Giving him a "you've-got-to-be-kidding" look, Carmichael said deliberately, "You know what I mean." 

"She seems a little inexperienced in criminal law," he shrugged.

"A little inexperienced? I asked for $500,000 bail and she didn't even bat an eye. When I mentioned to her that she could've objected, she said she didn't want to tie up the court's time arguing. Someone should tell this guy to get a decent lawyer."

McCoy shook his head. "I think you're overreacting." 

"Blue eyes aside," Schiff said, "is this attorney competent or is she providing her client with grounds for an automatic appeal?"

They were interrupted by a clerk, who came in and handed McCoy a folded blue paper. "I didn't see anything that would warrant a charge of incompetence," he replied, unfolding the paper. Scanning it, he added slowly, "In fact, I'd say she's doing just fine." He looked up at the two of them. "This is her motion to declare the search warrant invalid. The hearing is in Judge Rivera's chambers at 2:00 today." 

"I have another arraignment at 2:00 but I can send someone else if you need my help," Carmichael offered.

"Oh, I think I can handle it," McCoy said with a smile.

***When he walked into Judge Rivera's outer office, Morgan was standing at the secretary's desk, obviously just arriving as well. Upon recognizing him, the secretary picked up the phone and announced both of them.

"Ms. Morgan," he nodded to her.

"Mr. McCoy." Her hair was fastened back from her face with a barrette at the top of her head, although wisps of it had escaped. Her blue sweater matched her eyes.

"You may go in," the secretary announced, motioning to the door of the inner office.

McCoy opened and held it as Morgan walked through, thanking him as she did.

Judge Rivera stood as they entered. "Jack," he nodded, "good to see you." Then turning his attention to the woman standing in front of his desk, he said, "And you must be Calea Morgan." He smiled at her warmly as he took her offered hand.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. I've heard a great deal about you. I'm looking forward to trying my case in your court." McCoy glanced at her in mild surprise as she sat down in front of the desk and he took a chair a few feet to her right.

"So, tell me about this search warrant, Ms. Morgan," the judge suggested, settling back in his chair and focusing on the paper in his hand.

"The warrant was obtained due to an anonymous phone tip received by Detective Lennie Briscoe. Before receiving this so-called tip, the police had no substantial evidence to proceed on."

"I hardly consider motive and opportunity as insubstantial evidence," McCoy countered.

"And I hardly consider 'circumstantial' and 'substantial' as interchangeable, Mr. McCoy," Morgan retorted, giving him a sideways look. "The fact is, Your Honor, this phone call lasted a minute or less, by Detective Briscoe's own admission. It could have come from anyone, anywhere, including some disgruntled former employee of my client, or an over-zealous fellow police officer, intent on making a case where none existed. Given these circumstances I feel the uninvestigated tip, and the subsequent warrant, are invalid."

Caught off guard, McCoy was openly staring at her. 

Catching the look, Rivera looked amused. "What about this tip, Jack? Do you think it was enough to support a search warrant?"

McCoy nodded slowly. "The police get tips all the time. Some of them prove to be false. This one produced the murder weapon. I think the detectives acted in good faith."

"So you're arguing that the end justifies the means?" Morgan asked. 

"A phone call that lasted less than a minute from an anonymous informant seems like slim grounds for a warrant to me," Rivera agreed.

"Your Honor," McCoy objected, "the police were already investigating Mr. Fairchild when they received the call. It was perfectly logical for them to proceed on it."

"Before invading the privacy of my client's home, the detectives had an obligation to investigate further and try to substantiate the tip, at the very least," Morgan stated.

McCoy was beginning to feel annoyed. "By getting a warrant and searching your client's apartment, they did substantiate it."

"There's that end justifying the means again." Rivera shook his head. "I tend to agree with Ms. Morgan. I think the detectives should have proceeded with a little more caution. I'm going to grant your motion and declare the search invalid and the gun it produced inadmissible." 

"Thank you, Your Honor," she nodded.

Looking at McCoy he added, "But if you can link Mr. Fairchild to the gun in some other way and show me that a warrant would have been obtained as a result, I'll allow it back in, Jack."

"We'll find the link," McCoy said determinedly, looking at Morgan.

"Your Honor, given your ruling," she continued, "and in view of the remaining evidence, or rather the lack thereof, I request that the charges against my client be dropped."

"The People feel there is plenty of evidence remaining against your client, Counselor, and we intend to proceed with the case against him," McCoy said, allowing some of the annoyance he felt to be heard in his voice.

"If the prosecution feels they have enough to proceed on, I see no reason to drop the charges, Ms. Morgan," Rivera responded.

"Fine," she nodded. "However, I would like to request that you rescind the requested bail and release my client on his own recognizance. I have a request for the same from Deputy Mayor Fisk." She handed him a piece of paper. "My client is working closely with the mayor's office on a well-publicized renovation for the city. His presence on the project is vital. As you can see, Mr. Fisk is willing to vouch for his character."

"Deputy Mayor Fisk?" Rivera smiled as he looked at the paper.

"The Mayor was unavailable this morning," she shrugged, returning his smile.

"Your Honor, Mr. Fairchild is accused of murdering his business partner. Due to the violent nature of the crime, I think bail is warranted," McCoy argued.

"I don't see a flight risk here. He is working on a high-profile project. I'm inclined to grant the request," Rivera answered.

McCoy shook his head in disbelief.

"Thank you," Morgan responded with a smile.

"Is that all, Ms. Morgan?" the judge asked.

"It is, Your Honor," she answered, reaching for her briefcase.

"You know, you have quite a reputation," he added. "When Judge Callahan heard you were trying this case, he tried to talk me into letting him take it. I'm glad I didn't let him persuade me."

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I've read some of your case histories as well. I was pleased to hear of your appointment to this one." She stood up and shook Rivera's hand once again. 

"Ms. Morgan," he nodded. "See you in court, Jack," he added.

"Your Honor," McCoy said dryly over his shoulder, as he opened the door and allowed Morgan to precede him.

They exited the outer office and headed toward the elevators, walking in silence for a moment. McCoy wasn't exactly sure why he felt so angry. Although it was a well-known fact that he hated to lose, it wasn't as if it were the first time that had happened. He looked at the woman walking beside him. Her face was expressionless.

"I underestimated you, Counselor," he said slowly.

She turned to look at him and smiled slightly, but her eyes were filled with amusement. "Yes, you did," she agreed.

McCoy looked at her for a moment, unsure of how to answer. After a few seconds he said, "You sound as if you expect that."

"Expect it? Sometimes I count on it," she answered, giving him the same amused look.

"And encourage it?" he suggested pointedly.

She stopped so quickly he was two paces ahead of her before he turned to find her staring at him. "There are definite advantages to being unassuming, Mr. McCoy, but I don't consider keeping my mouth closed to be intentionally deceiving anyone. You drew your own conclusions about me. If your initial assessment was wrong, you can hardly blame me."

"I didn't say you deceived anyone," he said innocently. "But exactly what do you consider it to be when you pretend to be less knowledgeable than you really are?"

"I consider it to be not showing my hand to my opponent."

His eyebrows arched and for some reason he felt a lot less angry. He fell into step beside her again as she continued toward the elevators.

"Well I won't make the same mistake again," he said, beginning to sound amused as well.

"I hope not. I hope you live up to your reputation. Otherwise, this is going to be a very dull trial."

"My reputation? I hope you've been talking to the right people."

"I do my homework," she nodded, as they reached the elevators. 

"Homework?" he asked as he pushed the call button.

As she stood facing him, she seemed to be enjoying his reactions. "I like to know something about the other players before I sit down to a game." 

The elevator doors slid apart. There were enough people crowded into the car that the two of them had to stand fairly close once inside. McCoy glanced over at her, but all he could see was the top of her head as she looked at the floor. Her shoes were flat, so he judged her to be about 5'3". He was almost a foot taller. As the elevator descended, he thought about her last remark. When the door opened and they exited, he took up the conversation where they had left off.

"How is it that you know of my reputation, but although Judge Rivera has heard of yours, I haven't?" he asked as they walked across the lobby toward the exit.

"Do you know every attorney in New York?" 

"No, but I know most of the ones with reputations that would impress Judge Rivera." 

She turned to look at him and smiled a genuine smile, revealing a row of perfect white teeth.

"I'm afraid I don't have an answer to your question, Mr. McCoy." 

"Call me Jack," he smiled, as they reached the doors. He opened one for her and held it back with his arm as she passed through and thanked him.

As they started down the steps, he said, "So why don't you tell me about this reputation of yours."

She shook her head. "I couldn't do that."

"Why not?" 

"Well, not only would that be immodest, it might also give my opponent an edge," she answered, flagging down a cab as they reached the curb.

"Then how do you suggest I find out?" he asked, looking down at her. 

Morgan met his dark eyes unwaveringly. "Looks like you have homework," she shrugged. He reached to open the cab door for her. "Have a nice day, Mr. McCoy," she said as she got in.

He closed the door and stood smiling to himself before hailing a cab of his own.

***"How did it go?" Schiff asked from behind his desk, as McCoy loosened his tie and unbuttoned the collar of his white shirt.

Carmichael was already sitting on the couch as he plopped at the other end.

He shook his head. "The warrant's invalid, the gun is inadmissible, and Fairchild is R.O.R. It went great." He tried to sound gruff, but he didn't look all that unhappy.

Carmichael stared at him. "You're kidding."

He gave them a brief run-down of the events in Judge Rivera's office. "If none of us has ever heard of her, how do you suppose he has?"

"You said Judge Callahan had been talking to Rivera?" Schiff asked. At McCoy's nod, he continued, "Judge Callahan is from Chicago. Maybe he knows her from there."

"Fairchild and his partner moved their business from Chicago six years ago," Carmichael added. "That has to be the connection." 

McCoy nodded. "It makes sense. She told me she's been his attorney for seventeen years. Well," he said, getting up, "we'd better call Briscoe and Green and have them start working on linking the gun to Fairchild. It would be nice to get our key piece of evidence readmitted before we go to trial."

"Wouldn't it though?" Schiff agreed as the two left his office.

When they were in the hallway, McCoy said, "I want you to see what you can find out about Calea Morgan. Search for any trials she's been a part of here in New York. Then see if the Chicago database has anything on her."

"Is this personal or professional curiosity?" Carmichael asked.

He gave her a disapproving look. Then with a smile creeping into his eyes he answered, "As someone once said, 'I like to know something about the other players before I sit down to a game'." 

Stopping at the doorway of her office, Carmichael raised her eyebrows. "That still doesn't answer my question."

"I'm going to go call Briscoe," he said over his shoulder, as he continued to his office.

***"I can't find much of anything on Calea Morgan, here or in Chicago," Carmichael said, coming into McCoy's office as he looked up from a file. Reading from her notepad, she continued, "She received her license to practice law in New York four years ago, but she hasn't been listed as the attorney of record on any criminal case since then. And there have been no complaints filed against her with the ethics board in that time. From Chicago," she added, turning the page, "I found out that she graduated at the top of her class at University of Chicago Law School when she was only 21. But there is no 'Calea Morgan' listed as attorney of record for any criminal cases there either." She sat down on the sofa.

McCoy leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. "So maybe she wasn't 'Calea Morgan' then. Maybe she was, or got married."

"Any idea what name I should look under?" Carmichael asked pointedly, as if she hadn't already thought of that.

"No," he answered slowly. "But don't you and I know a lot of the attorneys that try criminal cases within our jurisdiction? Maybe the Chicago D.A.'s office would know."

She got up. "I'll go give them a call." 

***Carmichael had been gone for more than an hour when she finally returned. "I just got a call from the precinct. I have to go down for a line-up on the Allen case. I should be back in an hour or so. I'm expecting a call from the Chicago D.A.'s office. I talked to an assistant there and he said he doesn't remember Calea Morgan, but he's only been in the office for a few months. He said the man I need to talk to is your counterpart in Chicago, a man named Andrew Compton. He was in court, but the assistant said he would leave him a message. Do you want me to tell Susan to send it to you if he calls while I'm out?"

McCoy rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure. I'm not going anywhere for a while. Let me know how the line-up goes when you get back." 

Carmichael nodded as she left.

***"Mr. McCoy, there's a call for Abbie from a Mr. Andrew Compton on line two. She said you wanted to take it," the receptionist said through the intercom.

"I'll get it," he said absent-mindedly, still focused on his work. A few seconds later, he pushed the file aside and picked up the phone.

"McCoy." 

"Mr. McCoy, Drew Compton. I have a message that says I'm supposed to call Abbie Carmichael at the New York D.A.'s office ASAP. But like all the other messages my new assistant took, it doesn't say why. Can you by any chance fill me in?"

McCoy smiled. He already liked the deep voice on the other end of the phone. "Call me Jack. It's nice to know those kind of problems aren't unique to my office."

"You have trouble finding good help too?" the man asked in mock disbelief.

"Don't get me started," McCoy warned. Then getting to business, he said, "Abbie is my associate. She was calling for me, so I'm actually the one who needs your help, Mr. Compton."

"I'll do what I can," he said pleasantly. "And my friends call me Drew."

"I'm trying to find some information on an attorney that I believe used to practice within your jurisdiction. This is her first criminal case in New York. We haven't been able to find anything on her from this end so we think she may have practiced under a different name when she worked there. The name she goes by now is 'Calea Morgan'. Do you know any other name she may have used?"

After a moment of silence from the other end of the phone, the voice finally said, "She's been there four years and this is her first criminal case? What has she been doing?"

A little puzzled, McCoy answered, "Her business card reads, 'Contract Attorney'."

He let out a little cough. "If I had known she had been wasting her time and talent on something as boring as contracts, I would have come up and dragged her into your courtroom myself. And you can tell her I said that!" 

McCoy grinned into the phone. "I take it you know her?"

"Let me ask you, how strong is your case?"

"After she got the murder weapon thrown out today, it isn't as strong as it was yesterday," he offered a bit sarcastically.

Compton chuckled. "I'll give you a piece of hard-learned advice: if she even whispers the word 'plea', take whatever she suggests. If she's not interested in a plea, prepare well, although it will probably do you little good."

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not ready to throw in the towel just yet."

"Don't say I didn't warn you. She once made an entire jury, including four men, cry." McCoy was sure the man on the other end of the phone was smiling. "I don't suppose you've ever heard of 'Tyler, Cole, and Shuman'?" Compton continued.

"Yes, actually, I have. They're one of the most reputable firms in your area."

"Well, Calea used to work there when it was 'Lockhardt, Tyler, Greenberg, and Ryan'. And Tyler," he added pointedly.

"She was married to one of the partners?" 

"She was not only married to Frank Tyler, she was a full partner in the firm as well. She left when they divorced." After a pause, he added, "I'm glad she took back her own name." 

McCoy's eyebrows arched. "Messy divorce?" he asked curiously.

Compton's voice was flat, as he answered simply, "No." 

His answer did nothing to quell McCoy's curiosity, but when the other man offered no further explanation, he asked, "Anything else I should know about her?" 

"Hmm. Let's see. She's a very private person. And she has this annoying way of changing the subject when she doesn't want to answer your questions, personal or professional. It's her polite way of saying, 'It's none of your business'. I doubt if she's lost any of those Southern manners in the last four years. She lived in Chicago for over eighteen, and we never cured her."

McCoy chuckled. "I have noticed that she thanks people for the little things."

"She's also hard-headed and hates to lose a case, so rarely does. Her attention to detail will drive you crazy, but makes her an outstanding attorney. She's one of the best I've ever had the pleasure to work with." He added sincerely, "I miss her."

McCoy could think of few attorneys he had ever worked with that he would say that about. "Well, good attorney or not, if I have anything to say about it, she's going to lose the Fairchild case."

"Fairchild? You don't mean Peter Fairchild by any chance?" 

"You know him, too?" McCoy sat forward slightly, very interested in his response.

"I met him a few times, mostly at functions the Tyler's were involved in. He and Calea were good friends. You mentioned a murder weapon? Surely he's not being accused of murder."

"I'm afraid so. We have evidence that he killed his business partner, Evan Carpelli."

Compton let out a low whistle. "And Calea hasn't suggested a plea?"

"Not yet. And I doubt if she's going to, now that the weapon is out."

"You have your work cut out for you, Jack. And with the work Fairchild does, this is probably a pretty newsworthy case, too."

"There's been minimal press so far, but I expect it to pick up once the trial starts."

"Well, the only other thing I will tell you about Calea is that she always plays fair and has no respect for anyone who doesn't." 

"I'll remember that," McCoy nodded. 

"Tell her I said 'hello'." He could hear Compton smiling again. "I'd tell you to give her a hug from me, but that would probably get you smacked. I wouldn't do that to a fellow D.A."

"I appreciate that," McCoy said enthusiastically. He added a little more seriously, "And I appreciate your help. If I can ever return the favor, you have my number."

"I'll keep it. But I have a feeling you're going to be busy for a while."

McCoy smiled. "Nice talking to you, Drew." 

"You too, Jack."

After he had hung up, McCoy turned his chair to look out of the window. Everything he had learned only made him more curious. 

Carmichael walked in, catching him staring out. "Do you work at all when I'm not around?" she teased.

He swung around to face her. "Not if I can help it," he lied. "How did the line-up go?"

She sat down. "Three women positively identified Mr. Allen as the man who attacked them. He'll be arraigned tomorrow," she said, obviously pleased. "Susan said the Chicago D.A. called. Did you find out what you wanted to know?"

Ignoring her smirk, McCoy answered, "Part of it. I was about to run her married name through the computer." He turned his chair and rolled it over to his computer. Carmichael got up to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder. When the information he had requested appeared on the screen, there was a lot of it.

"She was one busy lawyer in Chicago," Carmichael commented. 

"She was a partner in a major firm there. Their reputation was made on handling controversial and well-publicized cases. Looks like she had her share of them," McCoy noted.

"Her track record is pretty impressive," Carmichael pointed out. "Acquittals, pleas; not many losses."

After scanning the material for a few more minutes, she straightened. "Well, I have some paperwork to do on the Allen case and then I'm going home. I feel like I ran a marathon today." As she reached the door, she asked, "Is there anything else I need to do on the Fairchild case before I go?"

He sat back, looking at her. "Not that I can think of. I have a little work to finish and then I'm going home myself. If I don't see you before you leave, have a good evening."

"You too," Carmichael nodded as she left for her office.

McCoy turned back to the screen. 


	3. 3

Chapter 3

"The lab recovered enough of the filed-off serial number for us to match it to a gun that was reported stolen nine months ago," Briscoe was saying over the phone, as Carmichael took a bite of her sandwich. "According to the computer, it doesn't match any weapon used in a crime before Carpelli was killed with it, and we haven't been able to link it to Fairchild in any other way. No one saw him with it or heard him talk about it. It just killed Carpelli and magically appeared in with his socks. We're going to run down a couple more leads, but so far we've come up empty."

Carmichael sighed. "Let me know if you get anything more."

After finishing her sandwich, she found McCoy at his desk and told him what Briscoe had reported. 

"I did find something interesting in the files we brought over from Fairchild's office," she said, sitting in the chair next to his desk and handing him some papers. "It seems that a little more than two months ago, a company called Jacobson, Incorporated approached his firm about a huge renovation project that would have netted them over two million dollars upon completion. I called Jacobson and talked to the vice president, a Mr. Fred Curry. He said he made the deal with Carpelli, who assured him that he had the one million dollar working capital on hand to begin the project, and that their crew would be ready to go by the start-up date. But when it came time to sign the final contract, Fairchild backed out, saying the crew was tied up and would be unavailable for a while. Curry said it was obvious Carpelli disagreed about the matter, and there seemed to be a great deal of tension between the two partners." She indicated the papers in McCoy's hand. "The date on the unsigned contract is three days before Carpelli was killed."

"What about the one million dollars Carpelli said he had? Where did it come from and where is it now?" McCoy asked, as he flipped through the contract.

"I haven't been able to find out. No one at the firm knows anything about it and no one has come looking for it. There's no record that the money was ever in the bank. If Carpelli had it, he didn't deposit it in the corporate account, his personal account, or Fairchild's. According to the office manager, Fairchild was the talent of the company and usually chose the projects. Carpelli was the moneyman. He was responsible for lining up investors to fund the projects and, by all accounts, he was very good at it."

McCoy had reached the final page of the contract. "Maybe their contract attorney would know something about it." He handed the papers back to Carmichael, folded so that the last page was on top.

"An addendum to the contract?" she asked, puzzled. Then noting the name at the top of the page, she nodded, "Calea Morgan. You think she knows anything about the money?"

"I don't know," he answered, leaning back in his chair thoughtfully. "How were the profits divided between Fairchild and Carpelli?"

"After everyone else was paid and a percentage set aside for working capital, what was left was split 50/50."

"And if something happened to one of the partners?"

"According to the partnership agreement, the surviving partner would then have sole ownership of the firm. Half of all profits from projects in the works at the time would go to the spouse or children of the deceased. After that, everything would go to the remaining partner. Carpelli wasn't married and didn't have any children." 

"How much will the firm make on the city renovation deal?" McCoy asked.

"I'm not sure. I would suspect it would be quite a bit, considering the size of the job. You think Fairchild killed Carpelli because he didn't want to split the profit? Since Carpelli was in charge of funding, wouldn't that be like killing the goose that laid the golden eggs?" 

McCoy shook his head. "I'm not saying it was necessarily premeditated. Maybe it was something that happened in the heat of the moment. But as long as Fairchild refuses to talk, we can use the fact that he's now in line to collect the full profit from the Mayor's project to prove he had a motive to kill Carpelli."

Carmichael nodded. "Maybe that will convince him to talk. Do you want me to call Morgan?" 

"No, I'll take care of that," he said. "But I would like to know the price tag on this motive before I talk with her."

"I'll see what I can find out," she assured him as she got up.

***After thumbing through his Rolodex, McCoy found the card he was searching for. He picked up the phone and dialed.

After several rings, a slightly out-of-breath voice answered, "Law office."

"May I speak to Calea Morgan?" he asked.

"She's in a meeting," the woman said, "but I expect her out any minute. Can I take a message or would you care to hold?"

"I'll hold." 

He had waited for only a few seconds when her voice came on. "This is Calea. May I help you?"

"Calea," he said, "Jack McCoy."

There was a pause on the other end. "Mr. McCoy. My receptionist didn't tell me you were holding. I hope you didn't have to wait long."

"I didn't. And I told her I'd wait."

"What can I do for you?" 

"For a start, you can call me Jack. Then I'd like to set up a meeting to discuss the Fairchild case with you."

"All right," she answered slowly. "When would you like to meet?" 

"How about sometime tomorrow?"

"Let me check my schedule. I know I have several meetings, but I'll see if I have some time free." There was a brief pause, then she continued, "I have a 9 AM contract signing that should be over at about 10:30. But due to the paranoia of the client, I have to hand-deliver the documents to the county clerk's office to be recorded. My next appointment is in my office at 3:00 and I have another here at 4:30. And it looks like another at 5:30," she sighed. "I could be at your office at 1:00. That would give us an hour or so."

"Instead of coming all the way over here, why don't I meet you somewhere for lunch?" he suggested.

"Lunch?" She didn't sound thrilled. 

"I know a great place between my office and the county clerk's." He glanced at the address on her business card. "And it's closer to your office than my office is. It would save us both some time. We could meet around noon." 

There was a brief pause before she asked, "Where is this great place?" After he gave her the address, she said, "All right. I'll meet you at 12:00."

"Good. I'm looking forward to it," he smiled.

"See you tomorrow, Mr. McCoy."

He shook his head as he replaced the receiver. He really was looking forward to seeing her. It had been several days since he had researched her past cases and he was anxious to let her know he had done his homework. He was still smiling when he returned to his work.


	4. 4

Chapter 4

McCoy arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early and requested a booth by the windows. He ran his fingers through his sometimes-unruly salt-and-pepper hair as he waited. The wind was blowing outside, as if a storm were brewing. As he waited, the door opened as someone entered, accompanied by a strong gust of wind. He turned to see Morgan step inside, her long hair swirling as the door shut. She looked out of breath.

He gave her a smile. "You're right on time." 

"I wasn't sure I was going to make it," she said, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Traffic was terrible. That and the lack of parking in this city makes me consider selling my car, every day."

"You and several million other people," he said, as the hostess returned to show them to the booth.

Morgan took her coat off and tossed it into the corner before sliding into her seat. Her black skirt and matching vest over a tucked, white shirt was neat and business-like. As McCoy sat down, she asked, "Ms. Carmichael isn't joining us?"

"She had other plans," he answered. The waiter appeared, taking their drink orders and leaving them menus. He returned quickly with their drinks and took their food orders.

After he had gone, Morgan sat forward, arms folded on the table in front of her. "So, what would you like to discuss about my case?" 

He took a sip of his tea. Fine; business first. "What can you tell me about a contract your client backed out of with a company called Jacobson, Incorporated?"

She answered carefully, "Not much. I went over the contract and made a couple of minor changes about ten weeks ago. I was supposed to attend the signing of the final papers, but Peter called me the night before and said he wasn't going through with it. Why do you ask?"

"Do you have any idea why he backed out?"

She bit her lip thoughtfully. "No, not really."

"Did he seem upset?"

"Where exactly are all of these questions leading?" she asked, as she stirred a packet of sweetener into her tea.

"Is that a 'yes' or a 'no'?" he pressed.

"Neither," she said, shaking her head. "As with any other communication with my client, it's privileged." She regarded him for a moment. "You want to just lay your cards on the table, or are we going to keep playing twenty questions?"

McCoy bit back a smile at her straightforwardness. "According to our sources, Fairchild backed out of a contract Carpelli had already committed to that would have made them a lot of money with the excuse that their construction crew wouldn't be available at the time they were needed to start. And according to the people at Jacobson, Carpelli seemed pretty unhappy about it."

"Sounds like you've found a motive for Evan to kill Peter, not the other way around."

Ignoring the comment, he continued, "Carpelli told the people at Jacobson he had a million dollars in start-up capital."

"And have you come across the money?" 

"No, we haven't, and there's no record that he ever had it in his possession. Do you know anything about it?"

She met his direct gaze unwaveringly. "You think Peter killed Evan for a million dollars?"

"People have been killed for a lot less," he pointed out. "Now will you answer my question? Did Carpelli actually have the money?"

"If that's your motive, I suggest you drop the charges now and save yourself the embarrassment of a trial. One financial statement will show that in my client's business, a million dollars is not a motive for murder." She sounded very sure of herself.

"Are you refusing to answer my question, Counselor?" He was beginning to feel annoyed.

"Whatever my answer, you'll use it to incriminate my client. I'm not going to be responsible for helping you convict him of a crime he didn't commit."

"If Carpelli never had the money in the first place or if Fairchild can account for it, that might actually help convince us he's innocent."

Morgan rolled her eyes. "Right. Nothing short of an ironclad alibi signed by the Pope is going to convince you my client is innocent. Your mind is already made up."

He leaned forward. "Then tell me something that will persuade me to change my mind."

She studied him for a moment. "I find it difficult to believe that your entire motive for murder hinges on money that you can't prove was ever in either partner's possession."

"I don't recall saying that money was his entire motive," McCoy said casually, sitting back.

His statement had the desired affect. Her eyebrows shot up. 

"So there's something more?"

"With Carpelli out of the way, your client stands to collect the entire fee from the renovation project he's doing for the Mayor. I hear that adds another five million to the motive pot." He watched her reaction closely, but this time her face was carefully expressionless.

"You've been misinformed; that amount is gross profit. After the contractors have been paid and other operating costs covered, the net profit will be considerably less."

"Oh? Will that bring it down to four million or only three?" he asked, with only a little sarcasm.

"I'm Peter's attorney, not his accountant," she answered a bit sharply. After taking a sip of her tea, she continued more calmly. "Why would he kill Evan to avoid sharing profits that he wouldn't have had the potential to collect without Evan's help? Evan's job was to convince investors to give the firm their money. When Peter first started the company, the jobs were small and he could always scrape enough together to get by. But as his work received more recognition the jobs became bigger, needing larger amounts of capital just to get started. Peter took Evan on as a partner precisely because he realized he wasn't good at funding those projects. And now that Evan is gone, he has to find someone else to do what his partner was very good at. It isn't going to be easy to find someone he can trust with that responsibility."

"I can't tell you how sorry I am for your client," McCoy said. "But the fact remains that his partner is dead. As for why he killed him, why don't we ask Fairchild that question? If he disagrees with what we feel is a very good motive, maybe he will be willing to offer one of his own."

"What have you found out about the gun?" 

He sat back with a sigh. Compton had been right. Her ignoring his questions and changing the subject was annoying. After a few seconds he answered, "It was reported stolen nine months ago. There's been nothing on it from that time until it was used to kill Carpelli."

"Have you been able to trace it to Peter?"

"Not yet," he shook his head. "But we're working on it."

"Doesn't it seem strange to you that you can't find any connection between Peter and the gun, and even though it was found in a place he would access every day, it didn't have his prints on it?"

"Just because we haven't found the connection yet, doesn't mean one doesn't exist," he stressed. "And prints can be easily wiped off. Neither of those two things proves your client's innocence."

"But the lack of those two factors certainly doesn't help you prove his guilt," she stated with conviction. They stared at each other for a moment, neither backing off from their chosen positions.

The waiter appeared and Morgan thanked him as he set her food in front of her.

Since he didn't feel he was getting anywhere with his questions about the case, McCoy decided to change the subject himself, abruptly.

"Is it true that you once brought an entire jury to tears?" he asked casually.

She paused in mid-bite, caught completely off guard. For a moment, all she could do was stare into his twinkling eyes. Then dropping her gaze to her salad, she recovered quickly. When they met his again, her eyes were filled with amusement. "That is an exaggeration." She picked up a bite of salad again. "There were two men that I never saw a tear from."

"And the others?" 

She shrugged as she finished chewing. "It was a sad case." McCoy chuckled as she smiled. "So, you did some homework."

"I did a little research," he admitted. "And I found out some interesting things."

"Oh?" Her voice was casual but she watched him carefully as she sipped her tea. "For instance?"

"For instance, I found out that you graduated at the top of your law class and went to work for one of Chicago's most prestigious firms. You married one of the partners and became one yourself in a relatively short time."

Morgan's expression changed and she focused on her plate for a moment, picking at her food. When she spoke, her voice was quiet. "Actually, you have that part reversed. I accepted a partnership before I married." 

He studied her briefly before continuing. "I read some of your case histories. You had quite a career while you were there. Doesn't seem like you shied away from the tough cases."

"One of the perks that come from working for a prestigious firm is that you get a shot at some of the tough cases. I was fortunate to have that opportunity. And I was fortunate to have learned from some of the best attorneys in the city how to handle those cases."

"In my experience, getting the breaks isn't as important as what you do with them," he said. "I doubt a firm like that would have given you the opportunity if someone hadn't seen some potential. And a partnership isn't easy to come by."

She smiled. "I suppose the fact that I love my work could've had something to do with it. But I know the main reason I was made a partner in such a short time had a good deal to do with my gender." At his look of surprise, she admitted, "I was okay with that. I got what I wanted; they got what they wanted; everybody was happy. Sometimes they just got a little more than they bargained for," she added with a gleam in her eyes.

"How so?" 

"Well for one thing, the term 'pro bono' was not in their vocabulary. But I had worked my way through law school as a clerk in the police department and developed some great contacts there. When I became a lawyer, I used those contacts to find out about and get some rather controversial cases. And although it got all our names in the paper, sometimes the other partners questioned my methods."

"You worked your way through law school in the police department? Most would-be attorneys want to work in a law office."

"I tried that. But since every other law student had the same idea, those jobs were hard to find. So I did what I thought was the next best thing. It was one of the best career moves I ever made."

"So when you asked Detective Green if you could 'possibly' have a look at the search warrant, it wasn't because you weren't aware of procedure?" McCoy asked innocently. 

"Haven't you ever heard the expression, 'You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar'?"

"Not in New York; must be a Southern expression. I did hear you're from the South."

She studied him for a moment. "And did you learn anything else?"

"I heard you don't like to lose cases."

"I hear we have that in common, Mr. McCoy."

He shook his head slowly. "When are you going to stop calling me 'Mr. McCoy', and start calling me 'Jack'?"

Morgan shrugged. "I guess when I know you well enough to feel comfortable doing so."

He leaned forward. "I thought your source already told you everything there was to know about me."

"There's a big difference in learning facts about someone and really knowing them," she answered evenly.

He stared into her eyes for a minute, then sat back. "So why don't you tell me your source and I'll tell you mine." 

Shaking her head, she said, "I believe my source wishes to remain anonymous."

"Sooner or later, you'll tell me what I want to know," he assured her. "I've yet to meet a woman who can keep a secret."

She sat back and crossed her arms. "Then you have obviously met the wrong women. And I think I can figure out your source on my own."

"Really?" He did his best to make the word sound like a challenge.

Taking the bait, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Well, let's see. I can't imagine you would bother Judge Rivera or Judge Callahan with such trivial matters. And I know you haven't spoken with my client, although you could've figured out I was from Chicago from my long association with him. It sounds like you found my case histories in the Chicago databank. Since I tried most of my cases while I was married, and since I left my ex-husband's name with him when I came to New York, you had to talk with someone who knew me before I came here." She paused thoughtfully. "If I were a D.A. and wanted to find out information on an attorney from another city, I would call a D.A. there. Of the four I worked with the most in Chicago, one left to open a private practice, and another is dead. Since you're still speaking to me, I would also have to rule out Robert Abbott." She ignored his questioning look. "Given that and the information you received, that leaves only one person." She sipped her tea and asked with a confident smile, "So what else did Drew Compton have to say?"

Not willing to admit he was impressed with her logic, he replied, "He said that had he known you were wasting your time and talent with something as boring as contract law, he would have come here in person and dragged you into a courtroom."

"That sounds like a direct quote."

"It is," he assured her.

"You spoke to him personally?" she asked, seeming pleased.

"Yes, I did. He also said he misses working with you."

She looked at the table for a second before replying quietly, "The feeling is mutual. Drew's a good guy. He taught me a lot."

"He seems like a nice guy," McCoy agreed. "But given the mutual admiration between the two of you, I'm wondering if I should give this other D.A. a call. Sounds like he might have a different story."

"I have no doubt."

"Was there a problem?" 

Morgan thought a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Let's just say that, no matter what side of the courtroom they sit on, I don't care for lawyers who are so consumed with winning a case that they feel they can break the rules in order to achieve their goals."

"Do you have proof this D.A. broke the rules?" he asked, as the waiter came and refilled their drinks. 

After he had left, she leaned forward. "He knows he did, I know he did, and after a little off-the-record chat, he knows exactly how I feel about that fact." She sat back. "Our mutual lack of respect for one another was well-known."

"I'll have to remember to play by the rules," he said in mock fear.

She looked at him thoughtfully as she took a sip of tea. "Is that a problem for you?" 

Something about the look in her eyes made him feel that, despite her casual tone, she was very interested in his answer. 

"I've been known to bend the rules on occasion," he admitted. "But I don't feel that I've actually broken any." He shrugged. "There are probably those who would disagree with my assessment."

After regarding him a moment longer, she said, "Well, given the obvious innocence of my client, I doubt that will be a problem with this case." The gleam was back in her eyes.

"A grand jury thought we had sufficient evidence to indict your client. And the more we investigate, the more evidence we find suggesting your client's guilt," he countered convincingly.

"You don't have a monopoly on gathering evidence, Mr. McCoy. And what I've found since the indictment does more than just suggest my client is innocent. I think it proves it. And I think a jury will be convinced as well."

"So you really want to take this to trial?" 

"No. But unless you're willing to drop the charges, you leave me little choice."

He shook his head, smiling at her. "Then I guess in about two and a half weeks we'll be seeing a lot of each other across Judge Rivera's courtroom."

"Guess so."

When they had finished their meal, the waiter came to clear their plates. After thanking him, she turned back to McCoy. "Thank you for lunch. I can see why you like this place. The food is great."

"It was my pleasure. And I hope we can do this again sometime soon."

"Should the occasion arise, I have a rule," she said. "Next time, I pay."

"Deal!" he answered enthusiastically.

While they waited for the waiter to return with a receipt, McCoy leaned forward on the table. "I do have one more question." 

"What is it?"

"You spent sixteen years building a successful career in Chicago. Why did you leave to start all over, not only in another city, but in another state?"

Her expression became guarded. "Personal reasons."

He remembered what Compton had said about her privacy but he was unwilling to let it drop. "And did those personal reasons have something to do with your divorce?"

After pausing for a few seconds, she replied, "I have another rule: I don't discuss my personal life at business meetings." The look in her eyes left no question in his mind that the subject was closed.

The waiter had returned and McCoy took the receipt from him, putting it in his wallet. He noticed Morgan was staring at her tea, turning the glass around in her hands absently, as if she were a thousand miles away.

He felt somewhat responsible for her change of mood. "I didn't mean to pry into your personal life," he lied.

Seemingly caught off guard, she looked up in surprise. But after a moment, the smile returned to her eyes. "Of course you did. A habit that goes with your job, no doubt. And a fact that I will have to remember."

As she glanced at her watch, he wondered again if those blue eyes could read his mind.

"I really enjoyed lunch, Counselor," he said sincerely.

She nodded. "So did I."

Catching the note in her voice, he said, "You don't have to sound so surprised."

She flashed him a bright smile and reached for her coat. "With all the things I had heard about you, I was prepared for anything. That I might actually enjoy lunch wasn't one of them."

He coughed out a little breath as she stood up. "Gee, thanks," he said, trying to look and sound wounded as he picked up his coat. 

"You could take that as a compliment," she said unconvincingly. She quickly put on her coat and waited while he did the same.

"When I finally succeed in discovering who your source is, I hope I'm standing in a dark alley with the person," he said as they started to the door.

She looked up at him. "I don't think that person needs to worry a bit."

When they reached the door, he pulled it open and a blast of cold wind hit them. As Morgan stepped out ahead of him, she quickly buttoned her coat.

"Feels like winter," he said stopping beside her on the sidewalk. "Where's your car? I'll walk you to it."

"That's okay. It's quite a hike." 

"If you ever come here again, this restaurant has its own parking on the next block."

"Thanks, I'll have to remember that," she nodded. "Well, I'd better be going. Thanks again for lunch, Mr. McCoy."

His voice was warm as he said, "You're welcome, Counselor." 

As she walked away, he stood where he was until she turned the corner.


	5. 5

Chapter 5

"I don't know what Allen's lawyer was griping about. The guy admitted to raping four women. I thought your offer was way too generous. Jail time was not what I had in mind for him," Carmichael said to McCoy as the elevator doors opened onto their floor.

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Maybe the fact that you were glaring daggers across the table at him had something to do with why Mr. Allen took an offer his attorney advised him against. In any case, I'm glad he took the deal. With the Fairchild trial starting in a week and a half and the number of other cases I have piled on my desk, I was thinking of asking Adam to add a shower to this floor so I could sleep on the couch in my office and save time commuting."

They stopped at the receptionist's desk to pick up their messages. McCoy shuffled through his as they continued down the hallway to their offices. "Don't forget the arraignment at 2:30 for what's-his-name, the guy that killed the pawn shop owner."

"You mean Mr. Murphy? I haven't forgotten," Carmichael said, pausing at the door of her office. 

"Sure you won't change your mind about having lunch with Adam and me?" 

"Thanks, but I'd better not take the time. After I finish the paperwork on Mr. Allen, I have to start preparing for the Murphy case. I also have some more checking to do on the missing money in the Fairchild case, and then there's..."

McCoy held up his hand. "Okay. You're almost making me feel guilty for going myself." 

"Enjoy your lunch," she smiled sweetly.

"I'm leaving from there to go see Judge Whitney, so I'll see you when you get back from the Murphy arraignment," he said, ignoring her tone. 

As he continued to his office, he thought about how fortunate he was to have her, especially lately. It seemed they had been even busier than usual. He was beginning to give her more and more responsibility, as she had proven she could handle even the toughest assignments. And he appreciated her sometimes-dry sense of humor, despite her impertinence. 

He barely had time to drop his briefcase and throw his messages on his desk when Schiff appeared at his door.

"Are you ready for lunch?" the older man asked.

"Ready," he replied, picking his briefcase back up and following the other man through the door.

***The intercom on Carmichael's desk sounded. "There's a lawyer named Calea Morgan here to see you or Mr. McCoy."

Carmichael looked up at the clock on the wall. 1:50. It had better be quick. "I'll see her, Susan," she answered.

A few seconds later, there was a soft knock on her opened door. "Ms. Carmichael?"

She looked up. "Ms. Morgan. Please come in and sit down." She indicated a chair. "And call me Abbie." 

"Thank you. And please call me Calea," she said, as she sat down. "Your receptionist told me you have an appointment in a few minutes, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop off..." She stopped as something on the wall caught her eye. "Longhorns? You went to U.T.?" Her face registered pleasant surprise.

Carmichael nodded. "I moved here after I graduated. Why?"

The other woman smiled. "I didn't know you were from Texas. I attended University of Houston before I got a scholarship to University of Chicago Law School."

Carmichael looked at her in surprise. "You're from Texas?"

"Born and raised," Morgan replied in her best drawl.

With a smile, Carmichael said, "I had no idea. How long have you been away?"

"Over twenty years. But you know what they say about your leaving your heart in Texas. I still miss it."

"It hasn't been that long for me, but I know what you mean. Sometimes I'd kill to hear someone say, 'y'all'." 

The other woman laughed. "Well if you spend much time around me, you're bound to hear it sooner or later. It's a habit I've never been able to break. That and, 'fixing to'. I used that expression the other day and my secretary is still giving me a hard time about it."

"So do you get back there much? Do you still have family there?"

Morgan's smile faded slightly as she shook her head. "I don't have family there anymore and I haven't been back since my last year of law school. And you?"

"I get back when I can, but with my job I don't get much time off. This year I will have been here long enough to earn one more week of vacation. I'm hoping to go down for a visit next spring."

"I think I miss Texas most around the end of February, when the snow is flying here and the traffic is crawling," Morgan said. "As a kid, I can remember it being warm enough that we went to the beach one year around that time. It was still too cold to get completely wet, but my brother and I walked in the surf anyway."

Carmichael nodded. "We used to go boating on Lake Travis in March. Where did you go to the beach?"

"Galveston, mostly, because it was closest. But sometimes we'd go to Padre Island, south of Corpus Christi, or take the ferry at Aransas Pass to Mustang Island."

"We used to go to Brownsville for spring break and hit Padre Island from that side. I do miss the beaches," Carmichael confessed wistfully.

"The beaches and the food are two of the things I miss the most. And the people," she added with a smile. "I haven't found much 'Southern hospitality' in New York."

"It would be a shock if you did," Carmichael agreed. "Jack mentioned something about you being from the South, but I can't believe he never told me you were from Texas."

"I don't recall that it ever came up in conversation. We mostly talked business. Which reminds me," she took a folded blue paper out of her briefcase, "this is for you." She stood up and handed it across the desk while Carmichael unfolded and scanned it quickly.

Looking up in surprise, Carmichael asked, "You want to explain this?" 

Morgan shook her head. "I know you're busy and I have an appointment too, so I'll be going. But I've enjoyed our visit. Maybe we can have lunch sometime and reminisce about home. See you in chambers," she added, as Carmichael nodded absently. 

When Morgan had left, she picked up the paper again and read it more carefully. When she had finished, she shook her head. She considered leaving it on McCoy's desk, as she slipped a file into her briefcase and prepared to leave for the arraignment. But she left it on her own instead. She wanted to be there when he read it. She couldn't wait to see his expression.

***"Thanks, Susan," Carmichael said as the receptionist handed her a couple of messages. "Is Jack in his office?"

"I'm not sure. But I know he's around here somewhere. He got back not long after you left."

Carmichael headed down the hallway, stopping at her office only long enough to drop her briefcase on a chair and grab the neatly folded papers with the familiar blue cover sheet. She found McCoy in his office. Schiff was sitting on the sofa and both men looked up as she entered.

"How did the arraignment go?" Schiff asked. 

"Good. Mr. Murphy was remanded and his lawyer wants to set up a meeting with us to talk about a plea." She looked at McCoy. He was leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. "We had a visitor before I left."

"Oh? Who was it?" he asked.

"Calea Morgan," she answered.

He sat forward. "What did she want?"

"Well, after we had a nice chat about being homesick," Carmichael handed him the papers, "she dropped this off."

McCoy opened the packet and began to read. "What the...She has to be kidding!" He looked at her in disbelief. "What did she say?"

Carmichael shrugged. "About this, nothing, except that she would see us tomorrow in chambers." 

"Would someone like to fill me in?" Schiff asked quietly, looking from one to the other.

"This is a motion to have the gun admitted back into evidence." McCoy pushed the papers toward him.

Carmichael took them and handed them to Schiff. 

The older man pulled his glasses from his shirt pocket and after putting them on, scanned the paper. After a few seconds, he lowered them and glared at McCoy. "What kind of attorney moves to get evidence she had previously excluded, admitted back in? I thought you said she was competent."

"She is," McCoy assured him. "This has to be a trick of some kind."

"Well trick or not, if she wants the gun back in, let her put it back in. Should make your job of convicting her client with it that much easier," Schiff said as he stood up and tossed the papers on McCoy's desk. "Of all the nonsense," he muttered as he walked out of the room.

Carmichael stood beside McCoy's desk with her arms folded, looking amused. "I've been thinking about this all afternoon and it doesn't make any sense. What possible reason could she have for wanting the gun back in?"

McCoy shook his head. "I don't know. But I'm sure going to find out," he answered, reaching for the phone.

Moments later, the voice he remembered from a few days previous answered, "Law office. Melissa speaking," 

"This is Jack McCoy. May I speak to Ms. Morgan?"

"She's not in. Would you like to leave a message, Mr. McCoy?"

"When do you expect her?" 

"I doubt if she'll be back today. She's on her way to meet with a client and has another meeting across town later. She probably won't finish there until 10:00 or so."

"That kind of schedule must wreak havoc on her personal life," he commented.

The voice on the other end laughed a pleasant giggly sound. "What personal life? She hasn't had one in the four years I've worked for her. And I don't think she's ever noticed." 

"I really need to speak to her before tomorrow. Could you get a message to her?"

"She should call in later. If she hasn't by the time I leave, I'll make sure the service gets it to her. Where can you be reached?"

"I'll be at my office for a while longer, then at home later," he answered. After giving his home number to the receptionist and thanking her, he hung up. 

No personal life; at least the call hadn't been a total waste.


	6. 6

Chapter 6

When Judge Rivera's secretary showed McCoy and Carmichael into his chambers, they found Morgan already there. She was sitting in one of the chairs arranged in front of his desk, engaged in what seemed to be a pleasant conversation.

"Ms. Carmichael, Mr. McCoy, please have a seat," the judge said as they entered. After they were seated, he asked, "Ms. Morgan, would you care to explain why you are asking to readmit evidence that you so persuasively argued to have excluded only a few days ago?" 

"Yes, Your Honor," she said, leaning forward in her chair. "It seems I may have been a bit hasty with my previous motion. In the course of the investigation to prove my client's innocence, I've gathered some interesting evidence. It seems that some person unknown to my client or his wife entered their apartment without their authorization and prior knowledge. He produced a workorder, supposedly signed by my client, giving him authority to do so and convinced the building manager, Mr. Rigel, to admit him in their absence." She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a paper, handing it across the judge's desk. "This is the workorder he submitted." Then pulling out another paper and handing it to him also, she added, "This is a report from a hand-writing analyst stating that the signature on the workorder was not my client's, but a forgery instead. Mr. Rigel was called away on another matter after admitting the man, so he couldn't be sure exactly when this alleged repairman left the Fairchild's apartment. However, the building's doorman remembers seeing a man matching the repairman's description talking on a cell phone, standing on the sidewalk in front of the building only fifteen minutes after Mr. Rigel says he let him into the apartment. This was, coincidentally, about the same time Detective Briscoe received the anonymous tip alerting him to the whereabouts of the gun used to kill Mr. Carpelli. I intend to prove that this man, whoever he is, planted the gun in my client's home and then alerted the police in order to falsely accuse my client." She paused a moment before continuing a bit more slowly, "But I can't prove my client was set up, unless I can use as evidence the weapon that was used to do so."

Judge Rivera was looking at her, having examined the papers she had presented to him. He nodded. "I see your dilemma, Ms. Morgan." He turned to McCoy. "Do the People have any objections to admitting the gun back in?"

Although he didn't actually believe her story, it did get him what he wanted. McCoy shook his head. "None, Your Honor."

The judge reached for a pen and quickly signed a paper on his desk. "Then it's back in," he said, looking up. "It's been a pleasure doing business with all of you. Do come again soon," he smiled.

Morgan stood up and reached to shake his hand. "Thank you, Your Honor."

The three attorneys filed out, remaining silent until they were in the hallway. 

McCoy broke the silence. "I don't much care for surprises, Counselor. You could have returned my call yesterday and explained all of this."

"Did anything I said in chambers convince you to drop the charges against my client?" she asked.

"No," he admitted.

"So can I assume that a call yesterday would have only served to satisfy your curiosity?" 

Carmichael caught his annoyed look and suppressed a smile, as Morgan continued, "Actually, I didn't receive your message until I got home last night, which was after 11 PM. I didn't think it was appropriate to call that late."

He glanced at her quickly, then asked, "Is that the only so-called evidence you've uncovered?"

"No, it isn't."

"Are you admitting that you've been withholding evidence?" Carmichael asked.

"I doubt if there's anything you can use, given your position," Morgan answered with a hint of sarcasm.

"Maybe you should let us be the judge of that," McCoy stated.

Morgan shrugged as they reached the elevators. "I'm willing to share what I have. The problem is finding the time to do so." She sighed as she pushed the "down" button, turning to face them. "With the trial only a week and a half away, free time is scarce. I've been trying to squeeze ten weeks worth of work into the last two. I don't like other cases nagging at me when I go to trial."

"Then maybe you should get some help," McCoy suggested. "This is important."

She gave him a disapproving look as the elevator arrived. "All my cases are important, Mr. McCoy. And as for my help, I don't have access to the same unlimited resources as you." As the elevator doors parted, she added, "My help consists of two law students. One is a computer genius, and the other really wants to be James Bond when he grows up. Neither is capable of handling a corporate merger."

The elevator was crowded and they held their conversation until the doors opened onto the ground floor. As they stepped out and walked across the marble floor, McCoy said, "We're running out of time, Counselor. We need to have all the facts on the table before the trial."

Morgan stopped as they reached the doors. "As much as I prefer conducting business in my office or yours, I don't see that happening this week or next. I close a major deal tomorrow morning and I can probably weasel out of the celebratory lunch afterwards. I will be free from about 11:00 to 1:00 if the two of you can meet me somewhere for lunch during that time."

Glancing at Carmichael, McCoy nodded. "I think that can be arranged. Where would you like to meet?"

"My appointment is not far from here, and since I'm not very familiar with this part of the city, I will leave that up to you," she responded, checking her watch. "You can call my office later and let me know. Right now, I have to meet a client." She gave them both a polite smile. "See you tomorrow." 

Carmichael turned to McCoy when she had gone. "You know I have a meeting with Briscoe and Green tomorrow at noon, don't you?"

"Really? What a shame. And she's buying, too." He sighed. "Looks like I'll have to go by myself." 

Although his face was the picture of innocence, Carmichael clearly saw the smile in his eyes as he held the door for her.


	7. 7

Chapter 7

He arrived at the restaurant precisely at 11:00. It was beginning to get crowded, so he decided to get a table rather than wait. He had been seated for about ten minutes when he saw Morgan come in. The hostess pointed out his table, and as Morgan made her way across the room, he noted with appreciation her well-fitted skirt and short jacket. 

McCoy stood up when she reached the table. "I believe you're late, Counselor," he said with a smile, resuming his seat as she sat down and placed her briefcase on the floor.

She returned the smile. "I want you to know I gave up lunch at the Waldorf with three handsome men in business suits to meet with you, Mr. McCoy." 

"You know, I don't feel a bit guilty," he replied.

"I guess you shouldn't. Lunch at the Waldorf makes me uncomfortable, anyway. I'm more of a jeans and sweatshirt person."

"I can certainly relate to that. I keep a pair of jeans in my office at all times."

"Really? I keep an extra pair of running shoes and sweats. I never know when I just might need to run away from it all." Her hair was pulled back from her face as usual, but long curls had spilled forward over her shoulders as she sat down. The color went well with the olive green of her jacket. "Where's Abbie?" she asked.

"She had a meeting. She said to send her regrets." 

The waitress appeared to bring them menus and recite the day's specials. After taking their drink orders, she left.

As he studied the menu, McCoy asked, "By the way, exactly how did you manage to 'weasel out of' this other lunch?" 

"It wasn't easy," she assured him. "That's why I was late. They were determined to persuade me to join them. I finally had to tell them I was meeting with the Executive Assistant District Attorney of New York County." Her eyes were sparkling. "You'll be pleased to know they were properly impressed."

"I should hope so," he said with mock importance. He was getting used to her teasing eyes and cat-that-ate-the-canary smile. "Lunch at the Waldorf; must have been a good meeting."

She nodded, closing her menu. "It was. It was also a long time in coming. I had never negotiated a merger of this size before. The red tape involved was mind-boggling. Now that it's over, I think I may actually be able to sleep when I go to bed tonight."

Before he could reply, the waitress reappeared with their tea and took their orders, hers for a vegetarian calzone and his for one of the specials: veal. 

After the waitress left, McCoy noticed Morgan's clearly disapproving look. "Counselor? Is something wrong?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"Veal?" she asked disbelievingly. "You have obviously never looked into the big brown eyes of a little calf before."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Great. An animal activist." He regarded her for a moment. "I seem to remember that you had chicken in your salad at our last lunch. How do you justify that?"

She shrugged. "That's different. Chickens are stupid." 

He nearly choked on his tea, laughing.

"Hey, trust me," she said, her face and voice sincere. "I know about these things. I grew up on a farm."

Recovering, he said, "A farm in Texas, where there were cows and chickens, I presume?"

"Among other things. So when I tell you chickens are stupid and calves are sweet and cuddly, I know what I'm talking about."

"So, you're saying it's okay to eat stupid animals, just not cuddly ones?" he reasoned.

She shrugged again. "Works for me." 

He shook his head, his eyes warm. "You are full of surprises, Counselor." 

He had meant it as a compliment, but he clearly saw a look of alarm in her eyes just before she dropped her gaze to the table. When she looked back up, her expression was business-like. The teasing twinkle was gone.

Her voice was business-like as well. "You wanted to know what evidence I've uncovered regarding my case." 

Although that was the last thing on his mind at the moment, he asked, "What have you found?"

She leaned forward, hands folded in front of her. "It seems that the doorman and the manager, Mr. Rigel, weren't the only ones to see the repairman who was in the Fairchild's apartment. Peter's neighbor across the hall, Mrs. Karinsky, saw him as well." She pulled a sheet of paper out of her briefcase. "By the way, this is a copy of my witness list. Mrs. Karinsky's name is on it, but I'm not sure she'll be available for the trial. She's out of state, visiting her daughter. But the description she gave over the phone matches the others. And there's something that all three witnesses noticed about the man: he wore gloves. Mr. Rigel said he noticed because he thought it was unusual for a repairman to wear gloves before he was ready to start working. He also carried a tool box, where he could have easily concealed a gun that he intended to plant in my client's apartment."

When she paused to take a drink of her tea, McCoy said, "The fact that this repairman was in the Fairchild's apartment is irrelevant. Maybe he got the wrong Fairchild. All you have are coincidences. There could be any number of explanations, other than that he was there to set up your client." 

"Maybe," she conceded. "But you have to admit there are a lot of coincidences. The forged signature on the workorder was actually very good. It took an expert to see the difference between it and the real thing. Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it appear legitimate. That coincidence is hard to explain away. And the man arrived only 15-20 minutes after Leslie Fairchild left the apartment. Given that, the phone call to the police is just a little too convenient. People have been convicted on fewer coincidences."

Their food arrived and both were quiet for a few minutes.

McCoy spoke first, between bites. "Other than the money your client was in line to collect, I don't see that anyone else had anything to gain by killing Carpelli."

"How do you know?" Morgan asked. "The investigation into other possible motives or suspects came to a screeching halt when Peter was arrested."

"That's because the evidence against your client is so overwhelming, Counselor. It's pointless to keep looking for an object after you've already found it. Fairchild is the only one with a motive. And the motive is money."

She leaned forward. "I don't disagree that the motive is probably money. I only disagree that the money Peter will make off of the project he's working on is the money behind the motive." She sat back, studying him thoughtfully. "You asked me at our last meeting if I knew anything about the million dollars Evan said he had collected from investors." 

When she didn't immediately continue, he prompted, "And do you?"

"Actually, no one seems to know anything about that money, not even Peter. Which in itself isn't unusual: once Peter took Evan on as a partner to handle the money, he let him do just that. As long as the money to fund a project was available, Peter took little interest in the particulars. He occasionally gave design presentations to groups of investors, but otherwise, he didn't have much to do with them. The unusual thing about the deal with Jacobson was that Evan got involved in what was usually Peter's job: choosing the project. He brought the deal to Peter and tried to convince him to do it. But Peter didn't feel they were far enough along with the mayor's renovation project to commit to another. They even argued about it. Peter said Evan was really pushing, to the point of being obsessive. He kept saying they owed it to their investors to get started on something else. Evan even hinted they might lose investors if they didn't. The renovation for the city was taking a lot longer than expected. The crew had been tied up with it for months. Evan was anxious, not only for the pay-off at the end, but to get them off of it and on to the next project. Peter said he got the feeling Evan was being pressured by some investors, but he didn't know who they were."

McCoy was listening carefully. She was giving him a lot of information.

"It seems to me that you have basically laid out your entire defense. Why are you telling me all of this now instead of saving it for the trial?" 

Morgan pushed her plate to the side and leaned forward on her arms. "Because I know how this game is played, Jack. I have a strong case. And there is nothing I've told you here that will help you convict my client. But while you're wasting time trying to do just that, the trail to the real killer is getting cold. If I can convince you of my client's innocence, you have the resources to investigate and find out who is really responsible for Evan Carpelli's death."

She had spoken with a great deal of passion and conviction. But for some reason, he couldn't seem to focus on what she had said. At the moment, he could focus on only two things: the fact that she had finally called him "Jack", and that the eyes he was staring into were green. Not the unnatural green that comes from colored contact lenses, but the same green as her suit.

Without thinking, he said, "Tell me something. Why is it that every time we've met up until now, your eyes have been blue, but today they're green?" 

Morgan sat back slowly, clearly surprised. She looked down at the table and McCoy saw the color rise in her cheeks. 

He hadn't meant to embarrass her. But the fact that he had, pleased him a great deal.

She met his eyes hesitantly. At the obvious look of amusement on his face, though, her embarrassment turned to anger in a flash. "And what exactly does that have to do with our discussion?" she snapped.

"Nothing," he answered. "I just find it distracting." 

She folded her arms, glaring at him. "Maybe if you would try to concentrate on the case at hand, you wouldn't be so distracted." 

He was sure she was wrong, but he knew enough about women not to argue. He nodded and gave her what he hoped seemed like an apologetic smile. "Point taken, Counselor." 

He saw a little of the anger in her eyes subside. He took a drink and quickly tried to think of a way out of the turn that he had allowed their conversation to take.

"I thought the goal of a defense attorney was to get an acquittal. If your case is as strong as you say, why are you so interested in further investigation?"

His tactic worked. She grew quiet for a moment, and when she answered, her voice was considerably calmer.

"Peter Fairchild is not just another client who got my name out of the yellow pages. If he was, we probably wouldn't be having this conversation. I would simply present my case to the jury, and be content with the acquittal that would surely follow," she answered confidently. "But Peter is my friend and I owe him more than a competent defense and acquittal. I owe him the truth about what really happened to Evan. After all he's done for me, it's the least I can do for him."

He regarded her thoughtfully. "At the moment, all you have is a handful of coincidences. If you can come up with something more substantial, I'll give it due consideration. But for now, I think your client is guilty."

"If I get more evidence, you'll investigate. But I can't get more evidence unless you investigate. Looks like I'm on my own," she sighed. "But I didn't really expect you to do anything different." 

"Oh? Am I that predictable?"

She shrugged and he finally saw a hint of teasing return to her eyes. "You're a D.A. Let's just say there's a familiar pattern here."

"So you've played this card before?" he suggested. 

"Once or twice," she admitted.

"And did it ever work?"

"That depends on how you define 'work'. My goals aren't always the same."

"I think you lost me there," he said, puzzled.

"I didn't really expect you to agree to investigate. But now that we've had this conversation, when I finally do get the evidence to back up my theory and present it to you, it won't be a new idea. It will be a lot easier for you to accept," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Have you ever heard of being overconfident, Counselor?" he asked with a wry smile.

She took a moment before answering seriously, "You should know that this is not an ordinary case for me. Because of our history together, I know Peter very well. I know what he's capable of. Even if your evidence points to the contrary, when I tell you he's innocent, you can believe it's true. And you can believe I will convince a jury of that fact."

He shook his head. "If there's one thing I've learned in all my years of doing this, it's that no one can really know what another person is capable of doing in the heat of the moment, and that people lie, even to their lawyers."

"My relationship with Peter is a two-way street. He knows my policy on clients who lie to me. I make it clear from the start that if a client lies or withholds the truth regarding their case, they find themselves another lawyer. And I've been known to drop clients, midcase, for that very reason. Trust me; he's not willing to risk it." 

"A defense attorney with scruples? Isn't that a contradiction in terms?" he asked teasingly.

"Underestimating me again, Counselor?" she asked pointedly.

"Not on your life," he assured her with a smile.

When they had finished eating, she glanced at her watch and sighed as the waitress came to remove their plates. After asking for the check and handing her a credit card, Morgan looked apologetically at McCoy. "I hate to eat and run, but I have to be at a client's office in a little while." 

"I understand. I have to meet with a suspect and his attorney to negotiate a plea this afternoon. I need to get back to my office as well."

When the waitress returned, Morgan signed the slip and took her copy.

"Thank you for lunch, Calea," McCoy offered. "I really like this rule of yours. Does this mean I pay next time?"

"After the trial starts, there may not be a next time. You may not even be on speaking terms with me." 

"Don't worry, Counselor. I don't take what goes on in the courtroom personally," he said, standing and waiting while she retrieved her briefcase.

She rolled her eyes as she stood up. "That isn't what I heard."

He huffed out a breath. "You know, you can't believe everything people tell you."

"Right," she said with a smile, walking ahead of him to the door. 

He reached past her and pushed it open, holding it back. She thanked him as she stepped out. The air was crisp, but the sun was shining and there was no wind; perfect fall weather.

"Did your secretary give you the message about where to park?" McCoy asked.

"Yes, and I meant to thank you. It was really nice of you to mention it. It made things considerably less stressful."

"My pleasure," he acknowledged, as they both turned to walk in the same direction.

"So when do I get your witness list?" she asked as they walked.

"I should have it finished this afternoon. And we should have a date for jury selection as well."

"If you don't mind, could you have someone fax it to my office? I won't be in anymore today, but I would like to look it over first thing in the morning." 

"No problem," he replied. After a brief pause he asked, "Do you have another long afternoon ahead, or will you be able to go home at a reasonable hour today?"

She sighed. "I wish I could. I'm glad this morning's meeting is behind me, but I have several smaller ones to take care of this week and another tough one the first of next week. After that, I hope to breathe a little easier and get back to a more normal schedule."

"Maybe after you do, we could get together for dinner one night," he suggested.

She glanced at him. "I don't believe in business dinners, Counselor. I find that little business ever gets accomplished in that setting."

He shook his head, amused. "That's okay. I wasn't asking you out for a business dinner."

Morgan stopped in her tracks, looking up at him in surprise. After a few seconds, she continued walking slowly beside him.

"I have a rule against dating people I work with," she finally said quietly.

"We work on opposite sides of the courtroom," he argued, still amused. But noting her seriousness, he added, "Then maybe we should wait until the trial is over. Then the winner," he said, putting a hand to his chest, "can celebrate, while consoling the loser."

She shook her head, smiling slightly. After a few seconds more, she stopped walking again, looking at the ground, and seemed to search for what she wanted to say. When she finally met his eyes, she seemed hesitant. "I hope I didn't give you the wrong impression. I didn't mean to..." 

She stopped and looked away. Whatever she was trying to say wasn't coming easy. McCoy was curious at her reaction, given the fact that she had always been so straightforward in their previous conversations. She looked at him again. "It isn't that I don't enjoy your company. It's just that I'm not the kind of person who casually dates. And at this point in my life, I'm not looking for anything serious, either." She paused and then continued, "And to be perfectly honest with you, I don't know that I ever will be." 

It wasn't so much her words that bothered him. He didn't really feel rejected, although he had experienced the feeling once or twice before. What did bother him was the look in her eyes and the sound of finality in her voice. 

"Sounds like a lonely position to take, Calea," he said quietly.

She turned and started walking again, answering casually, "Being lonely is never a problem for me. I'm around people all day. I look forward to a little solitude in my time off." 

"Being around people isn't the same as being with someone."

She turned to him. "Look, I'm happy with my life exactly as it is. When I'm not working, I have friends to be with when I choose not to be alone. I'm very content. How many people can say that?"

Her tone was light and he could have believed her, had he not seen the regret in her eyes. He simply wasn't convinced. 

"Not many, I guess." He paused for a moment before continuing. "So maybe we could get together sometime just as friends."

She stopped behind a small teal green car and smiled up at him. "A person can never have too many friends." Indicating the car, she added, "I'd better be on my way. I suppose the next time we see each other will be in court, for jury selection."

"I guess it will be," he agreed. "Thanks again for lunch, Calea. I enjoyed it."

"So did I. Have a good afternoon, Jack." 

"You too," he said, returning her smile and starting to his own car. But his smile faded quickly and he didn't even turn around as he heard her drive away. For the first time since he had met her, he left her company feeling unhappy.


	8. 8

Chapter 8

The next few days were busy and passed quickly. McCoy divided his time between several cases, leaving little time to think of anything but plea agreements and further evidence, or lack thereof, against Peter Fairchild. Briscoe or Green checked in almost every day with an update of their investigation into the murder weapon. Even though the gun had been readmitted, McCoy encouraged them to continue trying to tie it to Fairchild, knowing the position the defense was going to take on it. But they were running into one dead end after another.

On Thursday morning, the day jury selection was to begin, Green called Carmichael to let her know they had finally tracked down a former employee of Fairchild and Carpelli, for whom they had been searching. Carmichael set up a meeting with the woman for Friday morning. She briefed McCoy on the way to court.

"She seems credible enough. She says she heard the two argue. I'll know more when I sit down with her tomorrow," she explained as they made their way down the hallway toward the courtroom. "Should we tell Calea we want to add her to our witness list?"

McCoy shook his head. "Not yet. Let's wait and see what the woman has to say first. I'd like to know why she isn't with them anymore before we make a decision. Any statements she makes against Fairchild might only be sour grapes. I don't think we should mention anything about it until we're sure."

Carmichael nodded her agreement as they entered the courtroom. 

Morgan was already there, sitting at the table and studying the list of perspective jurors. She looked up as the two came to the table across the aisle from her. 

"Good afternoon."

"Hi, Calea," Carmichael smiled.

"Counselor, are you ready to choose twelve unbiased citizens?" McCoy asked, placing his briefcase on the table.

"As far as that's possible," she answered. "And you?"

"I'm ready," he said convincingly as he and Carmichael sat down and began preparing for their task. "Actually, I don't think we'll have much trouble. There's been a lot less press on this case than I anticipated, given your client's link with the mayor's office, and their love of the press." 

"You're welcome," Morgan said, continuing to study the paper in her hands. "It's certainly not from their lack of trying."

"Are you saying you had something to do with that?" Carmichael asked, leaning forward to see past McCoy.

She looked up and shrugged. "Peter introduced me to the mayor, and in the course of our conversation, I may have mentioned something about the situation."

"You talked the mayor into keeping a lid on this?" McCoy asked.

"Of course not, he's the mayor. He makes his own decisions. I simply said I may have mentioned it." She flashed a bright smile, then added a little more seriously, "But fair warning: once the trial starts, all bets are off."

"So can we expect to see your picture on the society page, attending the mayor's next charity event?" Carmichael asked.

She turned back to the paper. "Right. I'll be easy to spot in my jeans and sweatshirt."

McCoy grinned and shook his head at Carmichael's questioning look. 

The prospective jurors began to file in and they turned their attention to the business at hand. Each was well prepared, asking precise questions. Things went quickly and smoothly until they got to a man in his mid-forties with what seemed to be a perpetual smirk. After a couple of brief questions, Morgan seemed to take a deeper interest in him and asked more detailed questions, spending longer with him than she had with the others. When she had finished and thanked him, she turned to walk back to her table. With her back to the others, she looked directly at Carmichael, arching her brows.

McCoy caught the look and glanced at Carmichael, who was already getting to her feet.

"I'll take this one," she said to McCoy.

He watched with interest as Carmichael interviewed the man. She asked the usual questions about his views and opinions, then a couple more detailed ones. McCoy heard nothing out of the ordinary in his answers. When she finished and was returning to her chair, she looked at Morgan and rolled her eyes. McCoy turned to look at her as well, but her face was expressionless. Carmichael sat down and reached for her pen. She made a brief note and pushed it slightly in his direction. He looked down and saw, "Forget juror #7", written on the pad. McCoy gave her a puzzled look but she was looking at Morgan, who had gotten up to start with the next juror, leaving him wondering what he had missed.

The rest of the proceedings went without incident and they finished early. As they were collecting their things, Carmichael turned to Morgan.

"We were going to walk to a place a couple of blocks from here and get a drink. Would you like to join us?"

"I should go to my office and try to get some work done," Morgan replied as she looked at her watch. "But since we did finish earlier than I expected, I suppose I could take a break."

The two women headed for the door with McCoy close behind. They talked about the jurors in general, and once outside of the building, the nice fall weather. McCoy noticed that the two chatted as if they were old friends. Since Carmichael had told him Morgan was from Texas, her attitude regarding the other woman had changed. That fact pleased him, although he wasn't sure why.

When they reached their destination, they found a small round table in one corner. After seating themselves, a waitress came to take their orders. When she left, McCoy could wait no longer. 

He looked from one to the other. "Which of you wants to explain to me what went on with ex-juror number seven, Mr. Tate?" 

The other two looked at each other.

"He was a creep," Carmichael started.

"Never trust a guy who doesn't look you in the eye when you talk to him," Morgan added.

"So the two of you made the decision to reject him based on what? Lack of eye contact?" he asked.

"I could understand if I looked like Pamela Anderson, but I don't," Carmichael said. 

"He showed a condescending attitude toward women in general," Morgan agreed.

Looking at her, Carmichael said, "Can you imagine what it would be like to look like Pamela Anderson and have every man you meet act like Mr. Tate?"

Morgan shook her head, "No, and I wouldn't want to find out, even if someone bought them for me. Still, it would be nice to look a little more like a girl when I put on a sweater." 

Carmichael smiled. "I know what you mean."

McCoy looked from one to the other again. Deciding to keep any more personal observations to himself, he said, "Well I didn't hear anything in Mr. Tate's answers to your questions that would have disqualified him."

"It isn't always what you hear, Jack; sometimes it's more what you feel," Carmichael explained.

"Oh," he nodded, "now I understand. Your decision wasn't based on what you observed as attorneys. It was based on something more tangible: feminine intuition." He knew he was stepping onto thin ice, but he couldn't help himself.

"It serves us well," Morgan said emphatically. "There are a lot of Mr. Tates in this world."

"And worse," Carmichael added.

"If the two of you would like to have a little male-bashing session, I can go sit over there until your finished," he said, nodding to an empty table. 

"I don't have anything against men," Morgan replied.

"You're in the wrong place to say something like that, Counselor," McCoy warned. "If someone from The Women's Bar Association overhears that, you could lose your membership."

"What membership? I have better things to do than sit around with a bunch of women griping about how difficult it is to make a living in a man's world. I'm too busy trying to make a living in a man's world. And besides that, I don't think I relate to women very well."

"What do you mean?" Carmichael asked.

"I grew up in a male-dominated household. I've always related to men better than to women. Maybe it's partly because I noticed at an early age that boys got to do all the fun things. Not that I ever wanted to be a boy, but no one ever told my brother, 'Come down out of that tree, you're going to get your dress dirty.' "

McCoy shook his head, smiling. "The price you have to pay to be a girl. I spent a lot of time with my sister and her female friends growing up. But we didn't climb trees."

Noting the twinkle in his eye, Morgan knowingly took the bait. "And what did you do?"

"My sisters' friends used me to practice kissing." 

Morgan shook her head and smiled at Carmichael's eye-rolling look.

The drinks arrived and after sipping her tea, Morgan looked around the room. "So this is 'the' bar, where all the lawyers hang out after court, drinking to console themselves."

"This is it," McCoy agreed. 

"At any given moment, probably two-thirds of the people in here are attorneys," Carmichael added.

"I think every city has a place like this," Morgan nodded. "In Chicago, it was a little hole-in-the-wall called Quinn's. On Friday afternoons, it looked like a bar association meeting."

"Sounds like this place," Carmichael agreed.

"Did you spend much time there?" McCoy asked.

Morgan shrugged. "Some. But I prefer to run my frustrations away rather than to drown them."

Carmichael sat forward. "You run? How much?"

"Minimum, five miles, four times a week. More if I need to, and I usually need to."

"Really? That's great," Carmichael commented. "I wish I was that consistent. I do three miles, two or three times a week when I can, and try to put in a long run on the weekend. Although I hate to, I guess I should start running on the indoor track at the gym. My work keeps me too late to run outdoors a lot of days," she added, giving McCoy a sideways glance. 

"Since I refuse to run indoors and have the same problem with late nights, I found a place to run day or night." Morgan said.

"Where?" 

"There are some townhouses, about a mile from where I live, that are built around a nice size park area. I found out about it when I had to take some contracts to a client who lived there. It's a great place to run. The complex has security gates, and I rarely see anyone in the park, other than an occasional weekend dog walker. I bribe the guards with alcohol and they let me in."

"Sounds perfect," Carmichael said wistfully.

"I'm sure I could talk them into letting you in too, and I could use a running partner."

"Maybe when the trial starts we could make some plans," Carmichael suggested.

"I usually run on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, but I'm flexible. Just let me know what works for you."

Looking at them, McCoy asked, "What I'd like to know is where the two of you get the energy to run after the kind of hours you put in?"

"Running gives me energy," Carmichael answered. "When I haven't run for a while, I get lazy and don't want to do anything. But if I keep at it, my energy level stays high."

"And it's necessary to my sanity," Morgan added. "If I didn't run, I'd need a standing prescription for Valium."

McCoy smiled. "Or a good bottle of Scotch."

Morgan wrinkled her nose. "Pass."

They had talked for about forty-five minutes when Morgan checked her watch. Taking a last drink of tea, she said, "I should be getting to the office. I'd like to finish up and get my run in before dark, if possible."

After each had contributed their share of the tab, they walked back the way they had come, stopping when they reached the sidewalk in front of the court building.

"Well, I guess I will see you both here on Monday," Morgan said.

"We'll be here," Carmichael assured her.

"Prepare well, Counselor," McCoy suggested with a smile.

Returning the smile, she replied, "Oh, I will."

Turning in the opposite direction Morgan had taken, Carmichael and McCoy walked toward his car.

"So are you really going to go running with her, or were you only making conversation?" he asked.

"Are you kidding? It sounds perfect. It has to beat where I've been going." She paused thoughtfully, then announced, "I like her. She has a great sense of humor." She looked at McCoy, waiting for a reply.

He nodded. "Yes she does. And I like her too."

They walked in silence for a few seconds.

"So are you going to ask her out?" Carmichael asked casually, looking straight ahead.

He stopped walking and stood staring at her. "That's a little personal, don't you think?"

"You're right," Carmichael nodded. As they continued walking, she pressed, "So, are you?" 

He shook his head, amused at her persistence. "If you must know, I already have, and she said she isn't interested in dating right now."

Carmichael looked at him in surprise, more at the fact that he had actually given her an answer, than anything else. She walked along quietly for a moment. "Maybe she just needs some time to get to know you."

"Maybe," he agreed. He remembered the look in her eyes after she had told him.

"I've never known you to give up so easily, Jack," Carmichael said, noticing his quietness. 

"Oh, really?"

Ignoring his tone, she said, "If she doesn't want to date, then don't ask her to dinner, or a movie, or something you would normally do on a date. Find out what her interests are and ask her to do something different."

"Why this sudden interest in my personal life, Counselor?"

She shrugged. "You seem happier when you've been around her. It's nice to see."

He was a little taken aback at her observation.

"Well, I don't know about the happier part," he said slowly, stopping at his car. "But you're probably right about the not giving up part."

"Maybe I should warn her," Carmichael suggested, noting his determined look.

"Don't you dare," he warned, unlocking the door for her.

***Carmichael walked into McCoy's office and before she could speak, he asked, "Have you had lunch yet?"

"No, and I'm starved," she answered.

He handed her a menu. "I'm ordering take-out. Chinese, okay?"

She nodded and scanned the paper. "Number ten, with an eggroll and a Pepsi."

She sat on the couch while he called in their order. When he had finished, he sat back in his chair.

"What did you find out?"

"Tina Ackerman had plenty to say about Fairchild. He and Carpelli hired her as their bookkeeper when they first came to New York. She said Fairchild fired her about six months ago because she was having an affair with Carpelli. She also said she overheard Fairchild threaten Carpelli when he found out, and that they almost had a fist-fight the day she left."

"Do you believe her?" McCoy asked.

"She's very convincing. She also filed a harassment suit against Fairchild, which he settled with her out of court."

He nodded. "Sounds good. I take it she's willing to testify?" 

"Just say where and when, and she'll be there. I get the feeling she's eager for the opportunity."

He sighed. "Well I know one person who is probably not going to be happy about it, especially with the trial starting in only three days."

"I'll call her if you want," Carmichael offered.

"That's okay, I'll do it." He smiled. "After lunch." 

***"This is Jack McCoy. May I speak to Ms. Morgan?"

"Let me see if she's in, Mr. McCoy. Please hold."

A moment later, Morgan's brisk voice came over the phone. "Jack. What can I do for you?"

"I'm fine, Counselor, and how are you?" he teased.

He was sure he heard a smile in her voice. "Sorry. It's been a hectic day and I'm a little frazzled. I didn't mean to be rude."

"You weren't. And I've been having a lot of those days myself lately. If I could only give up sleeping, I might be able to keep up with my case load." 

"I know what you mean. My days need to be about four hours longer," she sighed. "So, what's up? Have you decided to drop the charges against my client?"

"Hardly." He paused for a second. "I have a witness to add to our list."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. When it had gone on a minute longer than a comfortable pause, she spoke, sounding more than a little annoyed. "Like you, Counselor, I don't much care for surprises. The last thing I need right now is to have to scrounge up time to go over another witness statement."

He bit his lip. "I know it's late in the game, and this isn't something I make a habit of, I assure you. But in this case it couldn't be helped. It took the detectives this long to track the person down. Look, why don't you let me make it up to you by taking you to lunch tomorrow? We can sit down and I'll tell you everything we have."

She didn't sound any less annoyed. "I already have a lunch date and a commitment for tomorrow morning as well." She paused and then added, "I'll be in my office for a couple of hours after lunch. If you want to stop by, we can discuss it then."

"Okay. I'll be there around 2:00, if that's all right with you."

"Fine. I'll see you then." 

He sat back after hanging up the phone. The conversation hadn't exactly gone as he would have liked. He hoped she would be less irritated with him by 2:00 the next day.


	9. 9

Chapter 9

The sky was overcast on Saturday as McCoy drove to the address on the business card in his hand. He arrived at an older building that looked as if it had been recently remodeled. The sign outside revealed that its three stories held several suites of offices, including those of several accountants and a real estate firm, in addition to Morgan's. He checked in at a security desk in the small lobby before taking the open staircase in the middle of the building up to the third floor. When he reached the top, he saw one glassed-in suite in front of him and two more on either side. The only one with lights on was straight ahead, so he opted for that door. "Calea Morgan, Attorney at Law", was stenciled in neat black letters on the glass. When he entered, he saw a comfortable sitting area with a desk in one corner, facing the door. An attractive young woman with short blond hair was sitting at the desk. Looking up from her work as he entered, she smiled pleasantly.

"May I help you?"

"I'm Jack McCoy. I'm here to see Calea Morgan."

The woman nodded as she stood up. "Mr. McCoy, I'm Melissa, Calea's receptionist. She's expecting you, so I'll take you back." As she stepped from behind the desk, he noticed she was dressed casually. She led the way down a hallway flanked by a couple of well-furnished conference rooms, to an office at the end. Stopping in the doorway, she looked inside.

"Well she was here a minute ago," she said, turning to face him. "She must be in the library."

Since she didn't indicate that he should wait, he followed her as she walked down another shorter hallway and entered a room on the right.

"You have a visitor," she announced.

As McCoy stepped in he saw a conference table in the middle of the room with ceiling to floor book shelves on each side. Morgan was standing on a chair, trying to retrieve a book on a shelf above her head. He glimpsed a sliver of well-toned flesh between her sweater and jeans as she reached.

"Who is it?" she asked without turning.

Before she could answer, he stepped around the receptionist, saying, "Someone tall."

Morgan turned in surprise as he stopped in front of the chair.

"Can I help?"

She stepped off the chair. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I need volume five, third shelf from the top."

He stepped up and pulled the book out, then stepped down and handed it to her.

"Thanks. I have a ladder but it's being used at the moment." She took the book to the table and laid it beside several more, opened to various pages.

"Where's Jace?" the receptionist asked quietly.

"Hiding," Morgan smiled. "Don't worry, he's okay."

Giving her boss an unconvinced look, the woman turned to walk out. "Call me if you need me to come and get him."

"I will," she promised. Turning to McCoy, she said, "You're early. I'm not quite finished with my other work." She didn't seem irritated, only a little cool.

"I know. I don't mind waiting while you finish up," he offered, trying to sound sincere.

"All I need to do is mark some things for Melissa to copy for me. It won't take long. You can wait in my office if you'd like."

"All right," he nodded, starting for the door.

"Jace," Morgan called, "I'll bet Mr. McCoy would love to see your tent. Why don't you take him to my office and show it to him?"

McCoy had stopped to meet her amused look with one of puzzlement. After a few seconds, he saw a chair move and a small blond haired boy crawled out from under the table.

He looked up at McCoy with big brown eyes.

"Do you want to see my tent?"

Giving the boy a warm smile, he said, "I'd love to."

The boy walked to the door, his eyes never leaving McCoy. "You're big."

McCoy looked at Morgan, but she had turned back to her work with a little smile.

He was kneeling on the floor, stacking books on a corner of a blanket that was draped over a ladder when Morgan came into her office. When he heard the door close, he looked up to see her watching him carefully.

"Looks like you missed your calling, Counselor. Maybe you should have been an architect."

"I think I'll keep my day job," he replied, securing another corner. "How's that, Jace?" he asked, sitting back and surveying his work.

A blond head poked out from under a fold in the blanket. "Good!" he said, and ducked back under.

McCoy got up and walked to a chair in front of a simple oak desk. Morgan was sitting in a green leather chair behind the desk with one leg tucked under her and the other foot dangling, making notes on a legal pad. After a second, she sat back. "Have a seat," she offered.

With the exception of their first meeting, he had yet to see her in anything but below-the-knee skirts and dresses. Her dark green sweater and jeans were decidedly more casual. And her hair was more tousled, held back with a green hairband. He liked the change.

"So, who is this new witness of yours?" she asked seriously.

"A woman named Tina Ackerman. She used to be the bookkeeper for your client's firm."

Her eyebrows shot up. "She's your last-minute addition?"

"You know her?" he asked.

"We've met," she nodded. "What does she have to say?"

"She claims to have heard the partners argue and Fairchild threaten Carpelli."

"What did she hear them argue about?"

"She says she was having an affair with Carpelli and when Fairchild found out, they argued about it, almost coming to blows over the matter."

She leaned on the armrest with her chin on her knuckles. "What does any of this have to do with Evan's murder?"

"It shows your client's propensity to violence against his partner," he replied.

"And did she happen to tell you why she was fired?"

"She said it was because of the affair, and that Fairchild settled a personal harassment suit with her over the incident."

Morgan shook her head in disbelief. "That's quite a story. I guess the part where she helped herself to a large bonus just slipped her mind."

He regarded her for a moment. "Then how do you account for the harassment suit she filed? We have documentation for that."

"Oh, I'm very familiar with it. I'm the one who drew up the settlement papers. The charges Tina brought against Peter were false. But even though it wasn't the reason she was fired, she was having an affair and that affair was a factor in finding out about her misappropriation of funds. So unless Peter had been willing to file criminal charges against her, she could have won a harassment suit. Since he wasn't willing to file, I urged him to settle. There was no truth to her claim; she only wanted money. She isn't going to make a very credible witness."

"I think a jury will buy her story and I think we can use her to show Fairchild's true character," McCoy argued.

"Be my guest," she smiled. "But I suggest you prepare her well for what to expect. I know this woman, and I'm going to rip her to shreds on cross."

It was hard for him to imagine her capable of doing that as she sat tucked into her chair.

The intercom on Morgan's desk sounded. Excusing herself, she touched a button. "Yes?"

The receptionist's voice came over the speaker. "Tony is here to see you. He wants to know if he can come back."

She glanced at McCoy. "Send him in."

"Is Jace bothering you?" Melissa asked.

"Not at all. He's playing in his tent. He's been so quiet, I almost forgot he was here."

She sounded a little skeptical. "All right."

Turning her attention back to McCoy, Morgan said, "I hope you don't mind, but my assistant would really like to meet you. It isn't every day a second year law student gets to meet an E.A.D.A. It would give him something to brag about in class on Monday."

He smiled at her. "I don't mind at all. I only hope he's not disappointed. I left my magic suit at home."

"I'm sure he'll be impressed anyway." At the knock on her door, she straightened in the chair and sat forward. "Come in."

A young man walked in, coming to a stop beside Morgan's desk.

"Tony, this is Jack McCoy. Jack, this is Tony Alvarez."

McCoy stood up and shook the younger man's hand. "Pleasure to meet you, Tony."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. McCoy. I've read a lot of your case histories. Some of them are legendary."

"In the legal world, flattery will get you everywhere," McCoy noted. He looked at Morgan as he resumed his seat. "If you ever decide to let him go, send him my way."

She smiled at the two. "I think I'll keep him for a while longer, at least until he gets tired of this small office and moves on to bigger and better things." She gave Alvarez a meaningful look.

Taking his cue, he said, "Mr. McCoy, I'm glad I got the opportunity to meet you. I hope I get a chance to watch you work sometime."

Standing, McCoy shook his hand again. "Maybe with this trial coming up, you will."

"I'll let the two of you get back to your meeting," Alvarez offered, glancing at Morgan as he turned to go.

"I'm going to be leaving in a few minutes," she informed him. "If Melissa isn't finished by the time I get ready to go, I'd appreciate it if you would stick around and wait for her. I'd rather she not be here alone. And if you help her watch Jace, she could probably get your paycheck to you before she leaves. I've already signed it; she just needs to log it in."

"I'll be glad to," he answered. "Do you want me to take Jace now?"

She turned toward the tent. "Jace, do you want to take a walk with Tony?"

The blond head poked out. "Okay," he said, crawling out from under the blanket.

"Will you stay with him and mind him?" she asked sternly.

He nodded his head solemnly.

"Okay. Then you can go. And I'll see you next week."

The little boy held up his arms and Morgan bent to give him a hug. Before he let her go, he planted a wet kiss on her cheek.

"Thank you! I had a lot of fun today. Be good for your Mom."

"I will. Bye," he called as he took Alvarez's hand and followed him to the door.

"Bye, Jace," she answered. "See you Monday, Tony."

When she turned to sit down, she caught McCoy watching her. She shrugged a little self-consciously.

"Sorry about that."

"No need to be." He had enjoyed seeing an unguarded side of her.

"Are we all set with the trial?" she asked.

"As far as I'm concerned," he agreed. Sensing that their meeting was at an end, he figured it was time to make his move. "So, are you actually going to take the rest of the day off, or do you have plans for this afternoon?"

She leaned back in the chair, stretching. "A little of both. I'm going to take some notes home with me and try to work on my opening statement. I've had enough of being cooped up in an office this week."

"Still sounds like work, Counselor. I have a better idea," he suggested.

"Oh? And what would that be?" she asked a little warily.

"A friend of mine from college is a director over at the zoo. He called the other day, looking for volunteers. They have an extensive breeding program there for, among other things, Siberian Tigers. It seems one of the mothers rejected her cubs, so the zoo personnel are bottle-feeding them. He wanted to know if I knew anyone who might be willing to help out. It takes about an hour or so, and I was wondering if you would be interested in going with me."

Her eyes were wide. "Tiger cubs? Are you kidding me? I would love the chance to just touch one, let alone feed it."

"Is that a 'yes'?" he asked, pleased with her enthusiasm.

She looked at her desk and for a second he thought she was going to turn him down. But when she looked up, although her expression was more reserved, she asked, "When would we need to be there?"

"He said if we got there around 4:00, he would have time to explain what to do."

She glanced at her wrist out of habit. "I didn't wear a watch today. What time is it?"

He looked at his own. "It's almost 3:00. It will take us about thirty minutes to get there."

"Okay. All I need to do is collect the copies I had Melissa make for me and take down a tent before I can leave." She stood up and walked across the office.

"I can help with that," he offered.

"I would leave it up, but it doesn't quite give my office the professional look I was hoping for."

He glanced around the room. He had looked it over pretty carefully when he had first come in with Jace. The colors were warm and there were several paintings on the walls, but other than the tent, everything in her office was "professional". A single ficus sat by the window behind her desk, but he had noticed immediately that there were no personal mementos or photos of family or friends.

They picked up books, returning them to the bookcase beside her desk. While she folded the blanket, he picked up the ladder.

"Where does this go?"

"In the library, behind the door," she answered, stashing the blanket in a cabinet in the corner.

When he had deposited the ladder in its place, he returned to find her gathering files from her desk.

"Finished?" he asked.

She nodded and walked out, turning off the lights as she left. He followed her down the hallway to the receptionist's desk.

"I'm leaving, Melissa. Is there anything I forgot to do?"

The woman handed her a stack of papers. "Not that I can think of. As soon as I log in the payroll checks, I'll be finished too."

"Tony is going to stay with you until you leave. Make sure he walks you to your car."

"Thanks for keeping Jace last night and taking him to lunch. He told me he had a lot of fun. I really appreciate your help."

"I'm glad I could do it. I had fun too. Call me at home if anything comes up. I'll be in the office early Monday before court," Morgan said as she retrieved her coat from a hook on the wall.

McCoy opened the door for Morgan. "Nice to meet you, Melissa."

"You too, Mr. McCoy," she answered as they walked out.

"When you told me you had a lunch date, I didn't know he was five," McCoy teased on their way down the stairs.

"Melissa is taking some courses at the university and she has an exam on Monday. I offered to watch Jace so she could study. She's a single mom and sometimes has a hard time balancing everything."

"I don't know many employers who would baby-sit for their employees," he observed.

"I enjoyed it. I like kids and Jace is adorable. Melissa has done a great job with him."

When they reached the lobby, Morgan stacked her files on a chair and put on her coat while McCoy signed the security sheet.

"We can take my car," he offered. "Will yours be all right if we leave it here?"

She nodded. "I would like to dump this stuff in it though."

He held the door for her and they stepped outside, into a light rain.

"I parked around the corner," McCoy said, zipping his jacket. "If you want to wait here, I'll get the car."

She looked up at him. "That's okay, I like rain. My grandfather used to tell me, 'You're not made of sugar; you won't melt'."

He chuckled as they began walking. "Do you still want to go to your car?"

"No, it's around the other way. I'll take this with me."

"I should have worn a heavier coat," he commented, hunching his shoulders. Giving her a sideways glance, he asked, "Do you mind if we stop by my place so I can grab one? It's on our way."

He was sure he saw hesitation on her face, so he added quickly, "It will only take a minute for me to run in and get it."

She shrugged. "I don't mind."

"I like your office. Everyone seems relaxed."

Morgan smiled. "Don't let our casualness fool you. This is Saturday. Monday morning, we're business as usual. And we make a great team. I'd be lost without Melissa, even though she is a little outspoken at times. Tony is going to be a great attorney, when he grows up a little. Ann, whom you didn't meet, is a third year law student. She has an incredible gift for learning. Unfortunately, she and Tony think if they don't learn something in law school, it doesn't pertain to being a lawyer. I've been trying to show them how to incorporate their natural abilities and interests into their work with the law."

"Not an easy task, I imagine. As I remember, law school didn't exactly stress individualism."

"From what I've seen things haven't changed much. But as they get more experience and observe other attorneys, I hope they will realize that we all draw on our strengths to help us in our work. Tony is a people person. He's comfortable talking to anyone. Ann is my computer whiz."

He looked at her. "And what are your strengths?"

She seemed to be caught a little off-guard by his question. After thinking a moment, she answered, "I guess my main strength is that I really like what I do for a living."

Looking ahead to his car, he smiled. He liked her simple answer. "I sure wouldn't mind working in an atmosphere more like your office. Ours could use a little less formality sometimes."

"Oh, come on," she said teasingly. "I heard Adam Schiff is a real teddy bear to work for."

His eyes were twinkling. "Most of the time," he agreed, reaching to unlock the door for her. "But he sure doesn't look like Tony's boss in a pair of jeans."

Morgan stopped, staring at him.

Noting the flash in her eyes, he held up his hand apologetically from behind the open car door. "Sorry."

She glared at him for another second before getting into the car. When he got in, she had placed her files on the seat between them and was buckling the seatbelt.

After pulling away, McCoy glanced at her. She looked as if she were wondering if going with him had been such a good idea. But since she had, he figured he might as well speak his mind.

"You know, you really should learn how to take a compliment, Counselor." His voice was kind.

He saw her turn to look at him and half-expected an angry outburst like the one she had delivered when he had commented on the color of her eyes. But her tone was calm.

"I guess you're right." She sighed. "I just don't like my competence as a lawyer being judged by my appearance."

McCoy looked over at her, confused. "I don't understand."

"I'm sure you don't understand," she said pointedly. "I doubt that you've ever had a problem with other lawyers taking you seriously. But it's frustrating to be judged, or rather misjudged, simply on gender or appearance."

He shook his head. "A compliment is not the same thing. Noting your appearance doesn't mean I'm assessing your abilities as an attorney."

"So you're saying that when we first met, you didn't judge my abilities by my appearance, at all?"

He thought back. "That had more to do with your actions than your appearance. And I distinctly remember you saying something about counting on that sort of response. It seems to me, you use it to your advantage."

"Only out of necessity; I don't have to like it. It's annoying to have some attorney talk down to me or present a substandard proposal just because I don't wear a suit and tie."

"Well, we're not all like that," he assured her. "And you can't hold me to an opinion I held as a result of our first meeting; that was before I knew you."

"Exactly."

He glanced over to find her giving him her usual teasing smile.

Looking at the road, he said, "Well that's another mistake I won't make again. But as for the compliments, I can't make any promises."

When they reached his building he pulled in front, stopping in a loading zone. Noticing that Morgan was looking up curiously, he pointed out, "I'm on the ground floor, to the right. I'll only be a minute." He waited for a break in traffic before getting out and then returned quickly, zipping his comfortable, well-worn coat.

"Much better," he noted as he pulled back into the line of cars.

Morgan sat quietly looking out of the window.

"How far from your office do you live?" he asked.

"Not too far, but in the opposite direction from your place."

"Sometimes I wish I lived closer to my work," he admitted. "But then again, the drive gives me a little time to unwind after a long day."

"As far as I'm concerned, riding a motorcycle in New York City traffic could hardly qualify as unwinding."

He glanced over at her, wondering again where she had gotten her information about him. It certainly seemed to be thorough.

"Have you ever ridden one?"

"A couple of times when I was a kid, with one of my brother's friends. He drove like a maniac."

"Well, I don't drive like a maniac, but I do enjoy it, even in the traffic. I'll have to take you sometime," he offered.

"I don't think so," she slowly replied. "The thought of nothing but air between me and some of the drivers in this city is not a comforting one. At least in my car I'm surrounded by a layer of metal."

"There are places to ride where there isn't much traffic. I think you would enjoy it." He sounded confident.

"Right," she said, sounding very unconvinced.

She grew quiet again as they drove on. There were so many things he wanted to know about her, he didn't have any trouble thinking of things to say.

"You mentioned your grandfather. What did he do?"

"He was a farmer. He gave my parents part of his land to build a house on when my grandmother passed away. Since we lived so close, we spent a lot of time with him. My Mom helped take care of his house and my Dad helped with the farm. My brother and I helped out too."

"What did you do?"

"We helped in the garden and with the livestock. My grandfather used to take me to auction with him. He taught me how to choose good cattle."

He sounded skeptical. "You know about buying cattle?"

"Everyone needs a back-up career."

McCoy returned her smile. "And what else did your grandfather teach you?"

"All the important things in life: good manners, the proper way to shake hands, and how to whistle, very loudly. That sometimes comes in handy when I'm having trouble getting a cab. And he used to have all of these really great sayings."

"Like, 'you're not made of sugar'?"

"Yes. And if we put our elbows on the table when he was eating with us, he would bang them with the handle of his butter knife and say, 'We're not having soup bones tonight.' He also used to say that dogs and kids are good judges of character."

"Your grandfather sounds like a remarkable man. Is he still alive?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn to look back out of the window.

"No. He died when I was ten."

"I'm sorry. You certainly learned a lot in ten years."

"Yes, I guess I did," she agreed, still looking out the window.

He was about to ask her another question when she beat him to it.

"You've known this friend of yours at the zoo since college?"

"Yes. His name is Alex Crawford."

"I think men are better at keeping in touch with college buddies than women are. I lost touch with all the people I knew a couple of years out of school."

"I lost contact with most of mine as well, but Alex was different. He's a really nice guy. His whole family is nice. I even dated his sister for a while."

"I'm looking forward to meeting him."

When they arrived at the zoo, it was still raining and there were few cars in the parking lot. Once inside the gates they headed to the administration building the woman in the ticket booth had directed them to. Upon entering, they were greeted by a man wearing khaki slacks and a warm smile.

"Jack, it's good to see you. What's it been? Two years?" he asked, clapping McCoy on the shoulder as the two shook hands.

"Something like that," he agreed. Turning to Morgan, he said, "I'd like you to meet a friend of mine. Calea Morgan, Alex Crawford."

Crawford shook her hand. "Jack tells me you're an animal lover, Ms. Morgan."

"It's Calea, and I am," she responded.

He began leading them down a hallway. "Well I really appreciate both of you coming out today. We can use all the help we can get."

He explained a little about the zoo's breeding program, particularly that of some of the endangered animals.

"We've had a great deal of success. We're especially pleased with the progress we've made with the gorillas. And the tigers," he added.

He led them into a brightly lit room that looked something like a cross between a kitchen and a laboratory. Several people were assembling an odd variety of meals intended for various animals. A large box sat on the floor off to one side. Plaintiff mewing sounds were coming from it.

Crawford walked over to the box. "These are our newest babies. They're barely a couple of weeks old."

Morgan and McCoy looked over the edge of the tall box. Inside were two small cubs, moving around on unsteady legs.

Crawford scooped one up and handed it to Morgan. She took in her arms, cradling it carefully. "It's adorable," she exclaimed. The cub squirmed, sniffing and mewing.

"They're hungry," Crawford noted. He walked to one of the staff and returned with two bottles of milk.

Setting them on the table, he picked up the other cub.

"What do you think, Jack? Are you up to trying your hand at feeding this one?"

"I think I'll just observe for now," McCoy answered, stroking the cub in Morgan's arms.

"You can make yourself useful by bringing those bottles for us," Crawford nodded. "We have a special room for feeding animals like these little guys."

They followed him to a door where they entered a small, softly lit room scattered with a few chairs.

"Would you grab a couple of those aprons for us, Jack?" Crawford asked, indicating a row of hooks mounted on the wall.

After setting his cub on the floor, Crawford took one of the aprons from McCoy and put it on, tying it behind him. "This job can get pretty messy sometimes," he explained, picking the cub back up.

Morgan reluctantly set hers down as well, stroking its soft fur before standing. McCoy held the apron out for her and she slipped her arms in, turning for him to tie the sash at the back. Thanking him, she picked the cub up and found a chair.

Crawford took a chair beside her, showing her how to hold the small bundle of fur and the correct way to feed it. McCoy pulled a chair up facing Morgan and leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. After a few seconds, both cubs were smacking and purring happily.

McCoy watched Morgan as she settled back in the chair. While the cub was otherwise occupied, she took the opportunity to examine it carefully, touching its small ears and large paws, tracing its faint stripes with a finger. She looked up at McCoy, eyes filled with wonder. He decided he had definitely made a good choice in bringing her.

When the cubs finally had their fill, they were decidedly less squirmy and both McCoy and Morgan scratched and petted both. All too soon, Crawford indicated it was time to return them to the nursery.

"Like all babies, they need plenty of sleep."

Before returning it to the box, Morgan held hers up and brushed her cheek against it. "You smell like milk." After one last look, she placed it carefully in the box and trailed her fingers down its back as it snuggled up to its sibling.

Turning to Crawford, she said, "They're so beautiful. It's unbelievable that people still hunt them. I can't imagine anyone being callous enough to kill one."

Crawford removed his apron and waited while she did the same. "People in other countries see things differently. The market for many of the endangered animals is still very good. A poacher can feed his family for a long time on what he makes on one capture or kill. As long as the demand is there, someone will be willing to take the risks to supply the goods."

When Morgan had given each of the now sleeping cubs a few final strokes, she and McCoy followed the other man back the way they had come. Passing a door marked "women", she excused herself. The two men continued toward the door leading outside.

"I was surprised to hear from you, Jack. All those times I tried to get you involved in our work," Crawford said, shaking his head sadly, "I should've known it would take trying to impress a woman to finally get you down here." He looked at his friend and grinned.

"I'm not here to impress anyone, Alex," he replied innocently. "I'm here to help out an old friend."

"Sure," he scoffed. "Well, I like her. She's sweet. How long have the two of you been together?"

"We're not exactly 'together'. We only met a few weeks ago."

"A few weeks? Really? Surely you're not slowing down."

McCoy gave him a warning look as they came to a stop near the door.

"How's Elizabeth doing?" he asked.

"Good. Her youngest started college this fall. I think she and David are enjoying having the house to themselves. They've had Helen and me over several times recently."

"Tell her I said 'hello'." McCoy looked over his shoulder to see Morgan coming towards them.

"I will," Crawford agreed as she came to a stop beside McCoy. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Calea. Anytime you want to come back, just let me know. I can always find something interesting for special people to do," he added with a smile, enveloping her offered hand in both of his.

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity. I really enjoyed it and I would love to come back."

Crawford held out his hand to McCoy. "It was good to see you, Jack. Don't be a stranger."

"That works both ways. You know where to find me. Thanks again, Alex."

When they exited the building, the rain had stopped, although the sky was still overcast.

"I like your friend," Morgan commented. "He is nice."

"Yes he is. And he said the same thing about you." He gave her a sideways smile.

They walked in silence until they were out of the gates. When they reached the car, she stopped, looking up at him. "For as long as I live, I will never forget this, Jack. Thank you for inviting me."

As he looked down at her, he was touched by the sincerity in her eyes and voice.

"You're welcome, Calea."

She continued slowly around to the passenger door, eyes on the ground. "You know I have a rule that I follow when someone buys me lunch. But I don't have anything that covers reciprocation for an experience of a lifetime."

He gave her a surprised smile. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "you could go to dinner with me tonight." He unlocked the car, adding hastily, "Of course, it wouldn't be a date; just two friendly lawyers getting together to trade war stories."

She paused before getting into the car and he could see the hesitation in her eyes. After a few seconds, she shrugged apologetically. "I'd better not. I try not to eat out more than once a day."

"Another rule, Counselor?" he asked teasingly. Seeing that she was serious, he suggested, "Maybe another time?"

She stood looking at him intently. Finally she said, "Maybe," and slid into his car.

When he got in, he could smell her perfume.

From the author:

I hope you have enjoyed my story to this point. I am in the process of making some changes to the remaining chapters, so for the rest of it and sequels, visit my homepage listed on my profile. Since writers learn a great deal from feedback, I also hope you will submit a review to let me know what you think, whether you liked the story or not.

Thanks!


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